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lUitcriSfilie  Edition 


THE 

COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  NATHANIEL 
HAWTHORNE,  WITH  INTRODUCTORY 
NOTES  BY  GEORGE  PARSONS 
LATHROP 

AND  ILLUSTRATED  WITH 

Etchings  by  Blum,  Church,  Dielman,  Gifford,  Shirlaw, 
and  Turner 


IN  THIRTEEN  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  VII, 


/ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/ouroldhomeandeng01  hawt 


Uc:.inM 


A London  SvibvU^b 


OUR  OLD  HOME,  AND  ENGLISH 

NOTE-BOOKS 


BY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
Ct)e  Cambritfge 

1894 


Copyright,  1863, 

Bt  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNEo 

Copyright,  1870, 

Br  SOPHIA  HAWTHORNE. 

Copyright,  1883, 

By  HOUGHTON,  MIFELIN  & CO. 
Copyright,  1891, 

By  rose  HAWTHORNE  LATHROP. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A, 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  & Co. 


OOKTENTS, 


OUR  OLD  HOME. 


PAGB 

Introductory  Note 9 

Dedication 

To  A Friend . . . 15 

Consular  Experiences , .19 

Leamington  Spa  . . . , . « o . . 58 

About  Warwick 

Recollections  of  a Gifted  Woman  . , . . us 


Lichfield  and  Uttoxeter  . . . . ^ . 148 

Pilgrimage  to  Old  Boston 169 

Near  Oxford . 201 

Some  of  the  Haunts  of  Burns  , . . . , 231 

A London  Suburb 254 

Up  the  Thames 288 

Outside  Glimpses  of  English  Poverty  ....  326 

Civic  Banquets 30o 


PASSAGES  FROM  THE  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS  OF 
NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 


'H. , ; 


k>  . , ^ 

i 


4 ^’j 


**9 


, ' . '/  ' ■'{* 


•i  'M 


OUR  OLD  HOME: 


A SERIES  OF  ENGLISH  SKETCHES. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


OUR  OLD  HOME. 

The  years  which  Hawthorne  passed  in  England  were 
outwardly  the  most  successful,  in  worldly  prosperity 
the  most  abundant,  and  in  other  respects  among  the 
happiest  of  his  life ; forming  in  the  autumn  of  his  ca- 
reer a sort  of  counterpoise  to  the  idyllic  period  spent 
at  the  Old  Manse.  Of  these  years,  — from  the  spring 
of  1853  to  June  of  1860,  excepting  a part  of  1858 
and  1859,  which  interval  was  chiefly  spent  in  Italy,  — 
Our  Old  Home  ” was  the  literary  outcome.  Much 
of  the  material  composing  the  sketches  in  this  volume 
occurs  in  embryonic  form  in  the  ‘‘  English  Note- 
Books,”  which  were  then  still  veiled  from  publicity ; 
but  various  elements  and  touches  of  fancy  were  sup- 
plied by  the  author’s  mood  or  memory  at  the  instant  of 
writing.  His  impressions  of  England,  outlined  in  the 
Note-Books  ” and  scattered  at  random  through  many 
pages,  here  assume  a connected  and  artistic  shape. 

The  articles  embraced  in  Our  Old  Home  ” were 
begun  at  The  Wayside,  Concord,  in  1862,  and  were 
first  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,”  which  was 
then  edited  by  Mr.  James  T.  Fields.  Mr.  Fields  has 
placed  on  record,  in  his  Yesterdays  with  Authors,” 
the  fullest  memoranda  now  to  be  had  relative  to  the 
production  of  these  sketches.  Hawthorne,  in  speaking 


10 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


of  them,  said  to  him:  ‘‘We  must  remember  that 
there  is  a good  deal  of  intellectual  ice  mingled  with 
this  wine  of  memory.”  Indeed,  he  took  a discouraged 
tone  regarding  the  work,  and  wrote,  on  forwarding 
one  of  the  manuscripts  : “ I hope  you  will  like  it, 

for  the  subject  seemed  interesting  to  me  when  I was 
on  the  spot,  but  I always  feel  a singular  despondency 
and  heaviness  of  heart  in  reopening  these  old  journals 
now.”  At  another  time : “ Heaven  sees  fit  to  visit 
me  with  an  unshakable  conviction  that  all  this  series 
of  articles  is  good  for  nothing ; but  that  is  none  of  my 
business,  provided  the  public  and  you  are  of  a differ- 
ent opinion.”  It  is  probable  that  this  down-hearted 
mood  was  a part  of  the  general  depression  which 
weighed  heavily  upon  Hawthorne  from  the  beginning 
of  the  civil  war  until  his  death,  and  was  caused  by  the 
unhappy  state  of  the  country.  He  looked  back,  also, 
to  his  English  sojourn  as  a pleasant  experience  never 
likely  to  be  repeated,  and  often  longed  to  return  to 
the  mother-country,  which  had  entertained  him  so  hos- 
pitably and  where  he  had  made  warm  friends. 

Some  of  these  friends  were  startled,  and  perhaps  a 
little  hurt,  by  the  frankness  of  the  characterizations 
and  criticisms  which  the  book  bestowed  on  the  Eng- 
lish. Hawthorne,  however,  remarks  in  a letter  to  Mr. 
Fields : “ I really  think  Americans  have  more  cause 
than  they  to  complain  of  me.  Looking  over  the  vol- 
ume, I am  rather  surprised  to  find  that  whenever  I 
draw  a comparison  between  the  two  peoples,  I almost 
invariably  cast  the  balance  against  ourselves.”  And 
it  was  from  Americans,  in  fact,  that  Hawthorne  re- 
ceived the  severest  censure  on  the  publication  of  “ Our 
Old  Home,”  though  for  quite  another  cause  than  his 
remarks  on  their  national  character.  He  had  dedi- 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE, 


11 


cated  the  book  to  his  old  college-friend,  Ex-President 
Franklin  Pierce,  against  whom  popular  opinion  at  the 
North  was  then  very  bitter,  on  account  of  the  attitude 
of  compromise  taken  by  him  towards  the  South  while 
he  was  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  Union,  and  his  opposb 
tion  to  the  war  and  to  emancipation.  When  remon- 
strated with  on  his  purpose  of  linking  the  volume 
with  Pierce’s  name,  Hawthorne  replied  to  Mr.  Fields; 

I find  that  it  would  be  a piece  of  poltroonery  in  me 
to  withdraw  either  the  dedication  or  the  dedicatory 
letter.  My  long  and  intimate  relations  with  Pierce 
render  the  dedication  altogether  proper,  especially  as 
regards  this  book,  which  would  have  had  no  existence 
without  his  kindness  ; and  if  he  is  so  exceedingly  un- 
popular that  his  name  is  enough  to  sink  the  volume, 
there  is  so  much  the  more  need  that  an  old  friend 
should  stand  by  him.  I cannot,  merely  on  account  of 
pecuniary  profit  or  literary  reputation,  go  back  from 
what  I have  deliberately  thought  and  felt  it  right  to 
do  ; and  if  I were  to  tear  out  the  dedication,  I should 
never  look  at  the  volume  again  without  remorse  and 
shame.”  The  collection  was  accordingly  published, 
in  the  autumn  of  1863,  with  the  dedicatory  note  as  it 
now  stands.  As  a literary  performance  “Our  Old 
Home  ” was  received  cordially,  but  the  political  and 
personal  indignation  roused  by  the  dedication  was 
deep.  “ My  friends  have  dropped  off  from  me  like 
autumn  leaves,”  Hawthorne  wrote  to  his  old  comrade, 
Bridge,  who,  although  in  the  ranks  of  the  political 
party  opposed  to  Hawthorne’s  views,  remained  loyal 
to  him. 

Of  the  story  told  about  an  erring  doctor  of  divinity, 
in  the  “ Consular  Experiences,”  the  author  wrote  to 
Mr.  Fields  : “ It  is  every  bit  true  (like  the  other  an- 


12 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


ecdotes)^  only  not  told  so  darkly  as  it  might  have 
been  for  the  reverend  gentleman.”  Among  some  cor- 
respondence the  editor,  a few  years  since,  came  upon 
a letter  addressed  to  Hawthorne  respecting  this  very 
point.  The  writer,  who  was  a stranger,  explained 
that  he  had  had  a controversy  with  some  friends,  who 
insisted  that  the  circumstances  narrated  must  have 
been  invented  by  the  author  for  effect.  On  the  en- 
velope Hawthorne  made  a memorandum  to  the  effect 
that  the  letter  had  been  answered  by  an  assurance  that 
the  incident  was  an  actual  one.  That  this  answer  was 
received  and  the  question  settled  the  editor  recently 
learned  from  the  correspondent  himself,  who,  curiously 
enough,  had  removed  from  Illinois,  where  his  letter 
was  written,  and  was  occupying  a house  next  to  the 
Wayside,  where  the  “ Consular  Experiences  ” was 
pennedo 


G.  P.  L. 


FRANKLIN  PIERCE^ 


AS  A SLIGHT  MEMORIAL  OF  A COLLEGE  FRIENDSHIP,  PROLONGED 
THROUGH  MANHOOD,  AND  RETAINING  ALL  ITS  VITALITY 
IN  OUR  AUTUMNAL  YEARS, 

Folume 

IS  INSCRIBED  BY 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


TO  A FRIEND. 


I HAVE  not  asked  your  consent,  my  dear  General, 
to  the  foregoing  inscription,  because  it  would  have 
been  no  inconsiderable  disappointment  to  me  had  you 
withheld  it ; for  I have  long  desired  to  connect  your 
name  with  some  book  of  mine,  in  commemoration  of 
an  early  friendship  that  has  grown  old  between  two 
individuals  of  widely  dissimilar  pursuits  and  fortunes. 
I only  wish  that  the  offering  were  a worthier  one  than 
this  volume  of  sketches,  which  certainly  are  not  of  a 
kind  likely  to  prove  interesting  to  a statesman  in  re- 
tirement, inasmuch  as  they  meddle  with  no  matters 
of  policy  or  government,  and  have  very  little  to  say 
about  the  deeper  traits  of  national  character.  In  their 
humble  way,  they  belong  entirely  to  aesthetic  litera- 
ture, and  can  achieve  no  higher  success  than  to  repre- 
sent to  the  American  reader  a few  of  the  external  as- 
pects of  English  scenery  and  life,  especially  those  that 
are  touched  with  the  antique  charm  to  which  our  coun- 
trymen are  more  susceptible  than  are  the  people  among 
whom  it  is  of  native  growth. 

I once  hoped,  indeed,  that  so  slight  a volume  would 
not  be  all  that  I might  write.  These  and  other 
sketches,  with  which  in  a somewhat  rougher  form  than 
I have  given  them  here,  my  journal  was  copiously 
filled,  were  intended  for  the  side -scenes  and  back- 
grounds and  exterior  adornment  of  a work  of  fiction 


16 


TO  A FRIEND. 


of  which  the  plan  had  imperfectly  developed  itself  in 
my  mind,  and  into  which  I ambitiously  proposed  to 
convey  more  of  various  modes  of  truth  than  I could 
have  grasped  by  a direct  effort.  Of  course,  I should 
not  mention  this  abortive  project,  only  that  it  has 
been  utterly  thrown  aside  and  will  never  now  be  ac- 
complished. The  Present,  the  Immediate,  the  Actual, 
has  proved  too  potent  for  me.  It  takes  away  not  only 
my  scanty  faculty,  but  even  my  desire  for  imaginative 
composition,  and  leaves  me  sadly  content  to  scatter  a 
thousand  peaceful  fantasies  upon  the  hurricane  thaf  is 
sweeping  us  all  along  with  it,  possibly,  into  a Limbo 
where  our  nation  and  its  polity  may  be  as  literally  the 
fragments  of  a shattered  dream  as  my  unwritten  Ro- 
mance. But  I have  far  better  hopes  for  our  dear 
country ; and  for  my  individual  share  of  the  catas- 
trophe, I afflict  myself  little,  or  not  at  all,  and  shall 
easily  find  room  for  the  abortive  work  on  a certain 
ideal  shelf,  where  are  reposited  many  other  shadowy 
volumes  of  mine,  more  in  number,  and  very  much  su- 
perior in  quality,  to  those  which  I have  succeeded  in 
rendering  actual. 

To  return  to  these  poor  Sketches : some  of  my 
friends  have  told  me  that  they  evince  an  asperity  of 
sentiment  towards  the  English  people  which  I ought 
not  to  feel,  and  which  it  is  highly  inexpedient  to  ex- 
press. The  charge  surprises  me,  because,  if  it  be 
true,  I have  written  from  a shallower  mood  than  I 
supposed.  I seldom  came  into  personal  relations  with 
an  Englishman  without  beginning  to  like  him,  and 
feeling  my  favorable  impression  wax  stronger  with 
the  progress  of  the  acquaintance.  I never  stood  in  an 
English  crowd  without  being  conscious  of  hereditary 
sympathies.  Nevertheless,  it  is  undeniable  that  an 


TO  A FRIEND. 


17 


American  is  continually  thrown  upon  his  national  an- 
tagonism by  some  acrid  quality  in  the  moral  atmos- 
phere of  England.  These  people  think  so  loftily  of 
themselves,  and  so  contemptuously  of  everybody  else, 
that  it  requires  more  generosity  than  I possess  to  keep 
always  in  perfectly  good-humor  with  them.  Jotting 
down  the  little  acrimonies  of  the  moment  in  my  jour- 
nal, and  transferring  them  thence  (when  they  hap- 
pened to  be  tolerably  well  expressed)  to  these  pages, 
it  is  very  possible  that  I may  have  said  things  which  a 
profound  observer  of  national  character  would  hesitate 
to  sanction,  though  never  any,  I verily  believe,  that 
had  not  more  or  less  of  truth.  If  they  be  true,  there 
is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  they  should  not  be  said. 
Not  an  Englishman  of  them  all  ever  spared  America 
for  courtesy’s  sake  or  kindness ; nor,  in  my  opinion, 
would  it  contribute  in  the  least  to  our  mutual  advan- 
tage and  comfort  if  we  were  to  besmear  one  another 
all  over  with  butter  and  honey.  At  any  rate,  we 
must  not  judge  of  an  Englishman’s  susceptibilities  by 
our  own,  which  likewise,  I trust,  are  of  a far  less  sen- 
sitive texture  than  formerly. 

And  now  farewell,  my  dear  friend ; and  excuse  (if 
you  think  it  needs  any  excuse)  the  freedom  with  which 
I thus  publicly  assert  a personal  friendship  between  a 
private  individual  and  a statesman  who  has  filled  what 
was  then  the  most  august  position  in  the  world.  But 
1 dedicate  my  book  to  the  Friend,  and  shall  defer  a 
colloquy  with  the  Statesman  till  some  calmer  and  sun- 
nier hour.  Only  this  let  me  say,  that,  with  the  record 
of  your  life  in  my  memory,  and  with  a sense  of  your 
character  in  my  deeper  consciousness  as  among  the 
few  things  that  time  has  left  as  it  found  them,  I need 
no  assurance  that  you  continue  faithful  forever  to  that 

VOL.  VII.  2 


18 


TO  A FRIEND, 


grand  idea  of  an  irrevocable  Union,  which,  as  you 
once  told  me,  was  the  earliest  that  your  brave  father 
taught  you.  For  other  men  there  may  be  a choice  of 
paths,  — for  you,  but  one ; and  it  rests  among  my  cer- 
tainties that  no  man’s  loyalty  is  more  steadfast,  no 
man’s  hopes  or  apprehensions  on  behalf  of  our  na- 
tional existence  more  deeply  heartfelt,  or  more  closely 
intertwined  with  his  possibilities  of  personal  happi- 
ness, than  those  of  Franklin  Pierce. 


The  Wayside,  July  2,  1863. 


OUR  OLD  HOME. 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 

The  Consulate  of  the  United  States,  in  my  day,  was 
located  in  W ashington  Buildings  (a  shabby  and  smoke- 
stained  edifice  of  four  stories  high,  thus  illustriously 
named  in  honor  of  our  national  establishment),  at  the 
lower  corner  of  Brunswick  Street,  contiguous  to  the 
Goree  Arcade,  and  in  the  neighborhood  of  some  of  the 
oldest  docks.  This  was  by  no  means  a polite  or  ele- 
gant portion  of  England’s  great  commercial  city,  nor 
were  the  apartments  of  the  American  official  so  splen- 
did as  to  indicate  the  assumption  of  much  consular 
pomp  on  his  part.  A narrow  and  ill-lighted  staircase 
gave  access  to  an  equally  narrow  and  ill-lighted  pas- 
sageway on  the  first  floor,  at  the  extremity  of  which, 
surmounting  a door-frame,  appeared  an  exceedingly 
stiff  pictorial  representation  of  the  Goose  and  Grid- 
iron, according  to  the  English  idea  of  those  ever-to-be- 
honored  symbols.  The  staircase  and  passageway  were 
often  thronged,  of  a morning,  with  a set  of  beggarly 
and  piratical-looking  scoundrels  (I  do  no  wrong  to  our 
own  countrymen  in  styling  them  so,  for  not  one  in 
twenty  was  a genuine  American),  purporting  to  be- 
long to  our  mercantile  marine,  and  chiefly  composed 
of  Liverpool  Black-ballers  and  the  scum  of  every  mari- 
time nation  on  earth  ; such  being  the  seamen  by  whose 


20 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


assistance  we  then  disputed  the  navigation  of  the  world 
with  England.  These  specimens  of  a most  unfortu- 
nate class  of  people  were  shipwrecked  crews  in  quest 
of  bed,  board,  and  clothing ; invalids  asking  permits 
for  the  hospital ; bruised  and  bloody  wretches  com- 
plaining of  ill-treatment;  by  their  officers  ; drunkards, 
desperadoes,  vagabonds,  and  cheats,  perplexingly  in- 
termingled with  an  uncertain  proportion  of  reasona- 
bly honest  men.  All  of  them  (save  here  and  there  a 
poor  devil  of  a kidnapped  landsman  in  his  shore-going 
rags)  wore  red  flannel  shirts,  in  which  they  had  swel- 
tered or  shivered  throughout  the  voyage,  and  all  re- 
quired consular  assistance  in  one  form  or  another. 

Any  respectable  visitor,  if  he  could  make  up  his 
mind  to  elbow  a passage  among  these  sea-monsters. 
Was  admitted  into  an  outer  office,  where  he  found  more 
of  the  same  species,  explaining  their  respective  wants 
or  grievances  to  the  Vice-Consul  and  clerks,  while 
their  shipmates  awaited  their  turn  outside  the  door. 
Passing  through  this  exterior  court,  the  stranger  was 
ushered  into  an  inner  privacy,  where  sat  the  Consul 
himself,  ready  to  give  personal  attention  to  such  pecul- 
iarly difficult  and  more  important  cases  as  might  de- 
mand the  exercise  of  (what  we  will  courteously  sup- 
pose to  be)  his  own  higher  judicial  or  administrative 
sagacity. 

It  was  an  apartment  of  very  moderate  size,  painted 
in  imitation  of  oak,  and  duskily  lighted  by  two  win- 
dows looking  across  a by-street  at  the  rough  brick- 
side  of  an  immense  cotton  warehouse,  a plainer  and 
uglier  structure  than  ever  was  built  in  America.  On 
the  walls  of  the  room  hung  a large  map  of  the  United 
States  (as  they  were,  twenty  years  ago,  but  seem  little 
likely  to  be,  twenty  years  hence),  and  a similar  one  of 


CONSULAB.  EXPERIENCES, 


21 


Great  Britain,  with  its  territory  so  provokingly  com- 
pact, that  we  may  expect  it  to  sink  sooner  than  sunder. 
Farther  adornments  were  some  rude  engravings  of  our 
naval  victories  in  the  War  of  1812,  together  with  the 
Tennessee  State  House,  and  a Hudson  Eiver  steamer, 
and  a colored,  life-size  lithograph  of  General  Taylor, 
with  an  honest  hideousness  of  aspect,  occupying  the 
place  of  honor  above  the  mantel-piece.  On  the  top  of 
a bookcase  stood  a fierce  and  terrible  bust  of  General 
Jackson,  pilloried  in  a military  collar  which  rose  above 
his  ears,  and  frowning  forth  immitigably  at  any  Eng- 
lishman who  might  happen  to  cross  the  threshold.  I 
am  afraid,  however,  that  the  truculence  of  the  old 
General’s  expression  was  utterly  thrown  away  on  this 
stolid  and  obdurate  race  of  men ; for,  when  they  occa- 
sionally inquired  whom  this  work  of  art  represented,  I 
was  mortified  to  find  that  the  younger  ones  had  never 
heard  of  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and  that  their 
elders  had  either  forgotten  it  altogether,  or  contrived 
to  misremember,  and  twist  it  wrong  end  foremost  into 
something  like  an  English  victory.  They  have  caught 
from  the  old  Romans  (whom  they  resemble  in  so  many 
other  characteristics)  this  excellent  method  of  keeping 
the  national  glory  intact  by  sweeping  all  defeats  and 
humiliations  clean  out  of  their  memory.  Nevertheless, 
my  patriotism  forbade  me  to  take  down  either  the  bust 
or  the  pictures,  both  because  it  seemed  no  more  than 
right  that  an  American  Consulate  (being  a little  patch 
of  our  nationality  imbedded  into  the  soil  and  institu- 
tions of  England)  should  fairly  represent  the  Ameri- 
can taste  in  the  fine  arts,  and  because  these  decora- 
tions reminded  me  so  delightfully  of  an  old-fashioned 
American  barber’s  shop. 

One  truly  English  object  was  a barometer  hanging 


22 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


on  the  wall,  generally  indicating  one  or  another  degree 
of  disagreeable  weather,  and  so  seldom  pointing  to 
Fair,  that  I began  to  consider  that  portion  of  its  circle 
as  made  superfluously.  The  deep  chimney,  with  its 
grate  of  bituminous  coal,  was  English  too,  as  was  also 
the  chill  temperature  that  sometimes  called  for  a fire 
at  midsummer,  and  the  foggy  or  smoky  atmosphere 
which  often,  between  November  and  March,  compelled 
me  to  set  the  gas  aflame  at  noonday.  I am  not  aware 
of  omitting  anything  important  in  the  above  descrip- 
tive inventory,  unless  it  be  some  book-shelves  filled 
with  octavo  volumes  of  the  American  Statutes,  and  a 
good  many  pigeon-holes  stuffed  with  dusty  communi- 
cations from  former  Secretaries  of  State,  and  other 
official  documents  of  similar  value,  constituting  part 
of  the  archives  of  the  Consulate,  which  I might  have 
done  my  successor  a favor  by  flinging  into  the  coal- 
grate.  Yes  ; there  was  one  other  article  demanding 
prominent  notice  : the  consular  copy  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, bound  in  black  morocco,  and  greasy,  I fear, 
with  a daily  succession  of  perjured  kisses  ; at  least,  I 
can  hardly  hope  that  all  the  ten  thousand  oaths,  ad- 
ministered by  me  between  two  breaths,  to  all  sorts  of 
people  and  on  all  manner  of  worldly  business,  were 
reckoned  by  the  swearer  as  if  taken  at  his  soul’s  peril. 

Such,  in  short,  was  the  dusky  and  stifled  chamber 
in  which  I spent  wearily  a considerable  portion  of 
more  than  four  good  years  of  my  existence.  At  first, 
to  be  quite  frank  with  the  reader,  I looked  upon  it 
as  not  altogether  fit  to  be  tenanted  by  the  commercial 
representative  of  so  great  and  prosperous  a country  as 
the  United  States  then  were  ; and  I should  speedily 
have  transferred  my  headquarters  to  airier  and  loftier 
apartments,  except  for  the  prudent  consideration  that 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


23 


my  government  would  have  left  me  thus  to  support  its 
dignity  at  my  own  personal  expense.  Besides,  a long 
line  of  distinguished  predecessors,  of  whom  the  latest 
is  now  a gallant  general  under  the  Union  banner,  had 
found  the  locality  good  enough  for  them  ; it  might 
certainly  be  tolerated,  therefore,  by  an  individual  so 
little  ambitious  of  external  magnificence  as  myself.  So 
I settled  quietly  down,  striking  some  of  my  roots  into 
such  soil  as  I could  find,  adapting  myself  to  circum- 
stances, and  with  so  much  success,  that,  though  from 
first  to  last  1 hated  the  very  sight  of  the  little  room,  I 
should  yet  have  felt  a singular  kind  of  reluctance  in 
changing  it  for  a better. 

Hither,  in  the  course  of  my  incumbency,  came  a 
great  variety  of  visitors,  principally  Americans,  but  in- 
cluding almost  every  other  nationality  on  earth,  espe- 
cially the  distressed  and  downfallen  ones,  like  those  of 
Poland  and  Hungary.  Italian  bandits  (for  so  they 
looked),  proscribed  conspirators  from  Old  Spain,  Span- 
ish-Americans,  Cubans  who  professed  to  have  stood  by 
Lopez,  and  narrowly  escaped  his  fate,  scarred  French 
soldiers  of  the  Second  Republic,  — in  a word,  all  suf- 
ferers, or  pretended  ones,  in  the  cause  of  Liberty,  all 
people  homeless  in  the  widest  sense,  those  who  never 
had  a country,  or  had  lost  it,  those  whom  their  native 
land  had  impatiently  flung  off  for  planning  a better 
system  of  things  than  they  were  born  to,  — a multitude 
of  these,  and,  doubtless,  an  equal  number  of  jail-birds, 
outwardly  of  the  same  feather,  sought  the  American 
Consulate,  in  hopes  of  at  least  a bit  of  bread,  and,  per- 
haps, to  beg  a passage  to  the  blessed  shores  of  Free- 
dom. In  most  cases  there  was  nothing,  and  in  any 
case  distressingly  little,  to  be  done  for  them ; neither 
was  I of  a proselyting  disposition,  nor  desired  to  make 


24 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


my  Consulate  a nucleus  for  the  vagrant  discontents 
of  other  lands.  And  yet  it  was  a proud  thought,  a 
forcible  appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  an  American,  that 
these  unfortunates  claimed  the  privileges  of  citizenship 
in  our  Republic  on  the  strength  of  the  very  same  no- 
ble misdemeanors  that  had  rendered  them  outlaws  to 
their  native  despotisms.  So  I gave  them  what  small 
help  I could.  Methinks  the  true  patriots  and  martyr- 
spirits  of  the  whole  world  should  have  been  conscious 
of  a pang  near  the  heart,  when  a deadly  blow  was 
aimed  at  the  vitality  of  a country  which  they  have  felt 
to  be  their  own  in  the  last  resort. 

As  for  my  countrymen,  I grew  better  acquainted 
with  many  of  our  national  characteristics  during  those 
four  years  than  in  all  my  preceding  life.  Whether 
brought  more  strikingly  out  by  the  contrast  with  Eng- 
lish manners,  or  that  my  Yankee  friends  assumed  an 
extra  peculiarity  from  a sense  of  defiant  patriotism,  so 
it  was  that  their  tones,  sentiments,  and  behavior,  even 
their  figures  and  cast  of  countenance,  all  seemed  chis- 
elled in  sharper  angles  than  ever  I had  imagined  them 
to  be  at  home.  It  impressed  me  with  an  odd  idea  of 
having  somehow  lost  the  property  of  my  own  person, 
when  I occasionally  heard  one  of  them  speaking  of  me 
as  ^‘my  Consul”  ! They  often  came  to  the  Consulate 
in  parties  of  half  a dozen  or  more,  on  no  business 
whatever,  but  merely  to  subject  their  public  servant  to 
a rigid  examination,  and  see  how  he  was  getting  on 
with  his  duties.  These  interviews  were  rather  formid- 
able, being  characterized  by  a certain  stiffness  which  I 
felt  to  be  sufficiently  irksome  at  the  moment,  though 
it  looks  laughable  enough  in  the  retrospect.  It  is  my 
firm  belief  that  these  fellow-citizens,  possessing  a na- 
tive tendency  to  organization,  generally  halted  outside 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


25 


of  the  door,  to  elect  a speaker,  chairman,  or  moderator, 
and  thus  approached  me  with  all  the  formalities  of  a 
deputation  from  the  American  people.  After  saluta- 
tions on  both  sides,  — abrupt,  awful,  and  severe  on 
their  part,  and  deprecatory  on  mine,  — and  the  national 
ceremony  of  shaking  hands  being  duly  gone  through 
with,  the  interview  proceeded  by  a series  of  calm  and 
well-considered  questions  or  remarks  from  the  spokes- 
man (no  other  of  the  guests  vouchsafing  to  utter  a 
word),  and  diplomatic  responses  from  the  Consul,  who 
sometimes  found  the  investigation  a little  more  search- 
ing than  he  liked.  I flatter  myself,  however,  that,  by 
much  practice,  I attained  considerable  skill  in  this  kind 
of  intercourse,  the  art  of  which  lies  in  passing  off  com- 
monplaces for  new  and  valuable  truths,  and  talking 
trash  and  emptiness  in  such  a way  that  a pretty  acute 
auditor  might  mistake  it  for  something  solid.  If  there 
be  any  better  method  of  dealing  with  such  junctures, 
— when  talk  is  to  be  created  out  of  nothing,  and  within 
the  scope  of  several  minds  at  once,  so  that  you  cannot 
apply  yourself  to  your  interlocutor’s  individuality,  — I 
have  not  learned  it. 

Sitting,  as  it  were,  in  the  gateway  between  the  Old 
World  and  the  New,  where  the  steamers  and  packets 
landed  the  greater  part  of  our  wandering  countrymen, 
and  received  them  again  when  their  wanderings  were 
done,  I saw  that  no  people  on  earth  have  such  vaga- 
bond habits  as  ourselves.  The  Continental  races  never 
travel  at  all  if  they  can  help  it ; nor  does  an  English- 
man ever  think  of  stirring  abroad,  unless  he  has  the 
money  to  spare,  or  proposes  to  himself  some  definite 
advantage  from  the  journey  ; but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
nothing  was  more  common  than  for  a young  American 
deliberately  to  spend  all  his  resources  in  an  aesthetic 


26  CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 

peregrination  about  Europe,  returning  with  pockets 
nearly  empty  to  begin  the  world  in  earnest.  It  hap- 
pened, indeed,  much  oftener  than  was  at  all  agreeable 
to  myself,  that  their  funds  held  out  just  long  enough  to 
bring  them  to  the  door  of  my  Consulate,  where  they  en- 
tered as  if  with  an  undeniable  right  to  its  shelter  and 
protection,  and  required  at  my  hands  to  be  sent  home 
again.  In  my  first  simplicity,  — finding  them  gentle 
manly  in  manners,  passably  educated,  and  only  tempted 
a little  beyond  their  means  by  a laudable  desire  of  im- 
proving and  refining  themselves,  or  perhaps  for  the 
sake  of  getting  better  artistic  instruction  in  music, 
painting,  or  sculpture  than  our  country  could  supply, 
— I sometimes  took  charge  of  them  on  my  private  re- 
sponsibility, since  our  government  gives  itself  no  trou- 
ble about  its  stray  children,  except  the  sea-faring  class. 
But,  after  a few  such  experiments,  discovering  that 
none  of  these  estimable  and  ingenuous  young  men, 
however  trustworthy  they  might  appear,  ever  dreamed 
of  reimbursing  the  Consul,  I deemed  it  expedient  to 
take  another  course  with  them.  Applying  myself  to 
some  friendly  shipmaster,  I engaged  homeward  pas- 
sages on  their  behalf,  with  the  understanding  that  they 
were  to  make  themselves  serviceable  on  shipboard ; and 
I remember  several  very  pathetic  appeals  from  paint- 
ers and  musicians,  touching  the  damage  which  their 
artistic  fingers  were  likely  to  incur  from  handling  the 
ropes.  But  my  observation  of  so  many  heavier  trou- 
bles left  me  very  little  tenderness  for  their  finger-ends. 
In  time  I grew  to  be  reasonably  hard-hearted,  though 
it  never  was  quite  possible  to  leave  a countryman  with 
no  shelter  save  an  English  poorhouse,  when,  as  he  in- 
variably averred,  he  had  only  to  set  foot  on  his  native 
soil  to  be  possessed  of  ample  funds.  It  was  my  vdti- 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES.  ‘ 


27 


mate  conclusion,  however,  that  American  ingenuity 
may  be  pretty  safely  left  to  itself,  and  that,  one  way 
or  another,  a Yankee  vagabond  is  certain  to  turn  up 
at  his  own  threshold,  if  he  has  any,  without  help  of  a 
Consul,  and  perhaps  be  taught  a lesson  of  foresight 
that  may  profit  him  hereafter. 

Among  these  stray  Americans,  I met  with  no  other 
case  so  remarkable  as  that  of  an  old  man,  who  was  in 
the  habit  of  visiting  me  once  in  a few  months,  and 
soberly  affirmed  that  he  had  been  wandering  about 
England  more  than  a quarter  of  a century  (precisely 
twenty-seven  years,  I think),  and  all  the  while  doing 
his  utmost  to  get  home  again.  Herman  Melville,  in 
his  excellent  novel  or  biography  of  Israel  Potter,’^ 
.has  an  idea  somewhat  similar  to  this.  The  individual 
now  in  question  was  a mild  and  patient,  but  very 
ragged  and  pitiable  old  fellow,  shabby  beyond  descrip- 
tion, lean  and  hungry-looking,  but  with  a large  and 
somewhat  red  nose.  He  made  no  complaint  of  his 
ill-fortune,  but  only  repeated  in  a quiet  voice,  with  a 
pathos  of  which  he  was  himself  evidently  unconscious, 
“ I want  to  get  home  to  Ninety-Second  Street,  Phila- 
delphia.” He  described  himself  as  a printer  by  trade, 
and  said  that  he  had  come  over  when  he  was  a younger 
man,  in  the  hope  of  bettering  himself,  and  for  the  sake 
of  seeing  the  Old  Country,  but  had  never  since  been 
rich  enough  to  pay  his  homeward  passage.  His  man- 
ner and  accent  did  not  quite  convince  me  that  he 
was  an  American,  and  I told  him  so  ; but  he  stead- 
fastly affirmed,  “ Sir,  I was  born  and  have  lived  in 
Ninety-Second  Street,  Philadelphia,”  and  then  went 
on  to  describe  some  public  edifices  and  other  local  ob- 
jects with  which  he  used  to  be  familiar,  adding,  with 
a simplicity  that  touched  me  very  closely,  Sir,  I had 


28 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


rather  be  there  than  here ! ” Though  I still  mani- 
fested a lingering  doubt,  he  took  no  offence,  replying 
with  the  same  mild  depression  as  at  first,  and  insist- 
ing again  and  again  on  Ninety-Second  Street.  Up  to 
the  time  when  I saw  him,  he  still  got  a little  occa= 
sional  job-work  at  his  trade,  but  subsisted  mainly  on 
such  charity  as  he  met  with  in  his  wanderings,  shift- 
ing from  place  to  place  continually,  and  asking  assist- 
ance to  convey  him  to  his  native  land.  Possibly  he 
was  an  impostor,  one  of  the  multitudinous  shapes  of 
English  vagabondism,  and  told  his  falsehood  with  such 
powerful  simplicity,  because,  by  many  repetitions,  he 
had  convinced  himself  of  its  truth.  But  if,  as  I be- 
lieve, the  tale  was  fact,  how  very  strange  and  sad  was 
this  old  man’s  fate!  Homeless  on  a foreign  shore, 
looking  always  towards  his  country,  coming  again  and 
again  to  the  point  whence  so  many  were  setting  sail  for 
it,  — so  many  who  would  soon  tread  in  Ninety-Second 
Street,  — losing,  in  this  long  series  of  years,  some  of 
the  distinctive  characteristics  of  an  American,  and  at 
last  dying  and  surrendering  his  clay  to  be  a portion 
of  the  soil  whence  he  could  not  escape  in  his  lifetime. 

He  appeared  to  see  that  he  had  moved  me,  but  did 
not  attempt  to  press  his  advantage  with  any  new  ar- 
gument, or  any  varied  form  of  entreaty.  He  had  but 
scanty  and  scattered  thoughts  in  his  gray  head,  and 
in  the  intervals  of  those,  like  the  refrain  of  an  old 
ballad,  came  in  the  monotonous  burden  of  his  appeal, 
‘‘  If  I could  only  find  myself  in  Ninety-Second  Street, 
Philadelphia  1 ” But  even  his  desire  of  getting  home 
had  ceased  to  be  an  ardent  one  (if,  indeed,  it  had  not 
always  partaken  of  the  dreamy  sluggishness  of  his 
character),  although  it  remained  his  only  locomotive 
impulse,  and  perhaps  the  sole  principle  of  life  that 
kept  his  blood  from  actual  torpor. 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


29 


The  poor  old  fellow’s  story  seemed  to  me  almost  as 
worthy  of  being  chanted  in  immortal  song  as  that  of 
Odysseus  or  Evangeline.  I took  his  case  into  deep 
consideration,  but  dared  not  incur  the  moral  responsi- 
bility of  sending  him  across  the  sea,  at  his  age,  after 
so  many  years  of  exile,  when  the  very  tradition  of  him 
had  passed  away,  to  find  his  friends  dead,  or  forgetful, 
or  irretrievably  vanished,  and  the  whole  country  be- 
come more  truly  a foreign  land  to  him  than  England 
was  now,  — and  even  Ninety- Second  Street,  in  the 
weedlike  decay  and  growth  of  our  localities,  made 
over  anew  and  grown  unrecognizable  by  his  old  eyes. 
That  street,  so  patiently  longed  for,  had  transferred 
itself  to  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  he  must  seek  it 
there,  contenting  his  slow  heart,  meanwhile,  with  the 
smoke-begrimed  thoroughfares  of  English  towns,  or 
the  green  country  lanes  and  by-paths  with  which  his 
wanderings  had  made  him  familiar ; for  doubtless  he 
had  a beaten  track,  and  was  the  “ long-remembered 
beggar  ” now,  with  food  and  a roughly  hospitable 
greeting  ready  for  him  at  many  a farm-house  door, 
and  his  choice  of  lodging  under  a score  of  haystacks. 
In  America,  nothing  awaited  him  but  that  worst  form 
of  disappointment  which  comes  under  the  guise  of  a 
long- cherished  and  late  - accomplished  purpose,  and 
then  a year  or  two  of  dry  and  barren  sojourn  in  an 
almshouse,  and  death  among  strangers  at  last,  where 
he  had  imagined  a circle  of  familiar  faces.  So  I con- 
tented myself  with  giving  him  alms,  which  he  thank- 
fully accepted,  and  went  away  with  bent  shoulders 
and  an  aspect  of  gentle  forlornness  ; returning  upon 
his  orbit,  however,  after  a few  months,  to  tell  the  same 
sad  and  quiet  story  of  his  abode  in  England  for  more 
than  twenty- seven  years,  in  all  which  time  he  had 


30 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


been  endeavoring,  and  still  endeavored  as  patiently  as 
ever,  to  find  bis  way  home  to  Ninety-Second  Street, 
Philadelphia. 

I recollect  another  case,  of  a more  ridiculous  order, 
but  still  with  a foolish  kind  of  pathos  entangled  in  it, 
which  impresses  me  now  more  forcibly  than  it  did  at 
the  moment.  One  day,  a queer,  stupid,  good-natured, 
fat  - faced  individual  came  into  my  private  room, 
dressed  in  a sky-blue,  cut-away  coat  and  mixed  trou- 
sers, both  garments  worn  and  shabby,  and  rather  too 
small  for  his  overgrown  bulk.  After  a little  prelimi- 
nary talk,  he  turned  out  to  be  a country  shopkeeper 
(from  Connecticut,  I think),  who  had  left  a flourish- 
ing business,  and  come  over  to  England  purposely  and 
solely  to  have  an  interview  with  the  Queen.  Some 
years  before  he  had  named  his  two  children,  one  for 
her  Majesty  and  the  other  for  Prince  Albert,  and  had 
transmitted  photographs  of  the  little  people,  as  well  as 
of  his  wife  and  himself,  to  the  illustrious  godmother. 
The  Queen  had  gratefully  acknowledged  the  favor  in 
a letter  under  the  hand  of  her  private  secretary.  Now, 
the  shopkeeper,  like  a great  many  other  Americans, 
had  long  cherished  a fantastic  notion  that  he  was  one 
of  the  rightful  heirs  of  a rich  English  estate  ; and  on 
the  strength  of  her  Majesty’s  letter  and  the  hopes  of 
royal  patronage  which  it  inspired,  he  had  shut  up  his 
little  country-store  and  come  over  to  claim  his  inheri- 
tance. On  the  voyage,  a German  fellow-passenger  had 
relieved  him  of  his  money  on  pretence  of  getting  it 
favorably  exchanged,  and  had  disappeared  immedi- 
ately on  the  ship’s  arrival ; so  that  the  poor  fellow  was 
compelled  to  pawn  all  his  clothes,  except  the  remark- 
ably shabby  ones  in  which  I beheld  him,  and  in  which 
(as  he  himself  hinted,  with  a melancholy,  yet  good- 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


31 


natured  smile)  he  did  not  look  altogether  fit  to  see  the 
Queen.  I agreed  with  him  that  the  bobtailed  coat 
and  mixed  trousers  constituted  a very  odd  - looking 
court-dress,  and  suggested  that  it  was  doubtless  his 
present  purpose  to  get  back  to  Connecticut  as  fast  as 
possible.  But  no  ! The  resolve  to  see  the  Queen  was 
as  strong  in  him  as  ever ; and  it  was  marvellous  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  clung  to  it  amid  raggedness 
and  starvation,  and  the  earnestness  of  his  supplication 
that  I would  supply  him  with  funds  for  a suitable  ap- 
pearance at  Windsor  Castle. 

I never  had  so  satisfactory  a perception  of  a com- 
plete booby  before  in  my  life ; and  it  caused  me  to  feel 
kindly  towards  him,  and  yet  impatient  and  exasper- 
ated on  behalf  of  common-sense,  which  could  not  pos- 
sibly tolerate  that  such  an  unimaginable  donkey  should 
exist.  I laid  his  absurdity  before  him  in  the  very 
plainest  terms,  but  without  either  exciting  his  anger 
or  shaking  his  resolution.  “ Oh  my  dear  man,”  quoth 
he,  with  good-natured,  placid,  simple,  and  tearful  stub- 
bornness, “ if  you  could  but  enter  into  my  feelings  and 
see  the  matter  from  beginning  to  end  as  I see  it ! ” To 
confess  the  truth,  I have  since  felt  that  I was  hard- 
hearted to  the  poor  simpleton,  and  that  there  was 
more  weight  in  his  remonstrance  than  I chose  to  be 
sensible  of,  at  the  time ; for,  like  many  men  who  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  making  playthings  or  tools  of 
their  imagination  and  sensibility,  I was  too  rigidly 
tenacious  of  what  was  reasonable  in  the  affairs  of  real 
life.  And  even  absurdity  has  its  rights,  when,  as  in 
this  case,  it  has  absorbed  a human  being’s  entire  na- 
ture and  purposes.  I ought  to  have  transmitted  him 
to  Mr.  Buchanan,  in  London,  who,  being  a good-na- 
tured old  gentleman,  and  anxious,  just  then,  to  gratify 


32 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


the  universal  Yankee  nation,  might,  for  the  joke’s  sake, 
have  got  him  admittance  to  the  Queen,  who  had  fairly 
laid  herself  open  to  his  visit,  and  has  received  hun- 
dreds of  our  countrymen  on  infinitely  slighter  grounds. 
But  I was  inexorable,  being  turned  to  flint  by  the  im 
sufferable  proximity  of  a fool,  and  refused  to  interfere 
with  his  business  in  any  way  except  to  procure  him  a 
passage  home.  I can  see  his  face  of  mild,  ridiculous 
despair  at  this  moment,  and  appreciate,  better  than  I 
could  then,  how  awfully  cruel  he  must  have  felt  my 
obduracy  to  be.  For  years  and  years,  the  idea  of  an 
interview  with  Queen  Victoria  had  haunted  his  poor 
foolish  mind  ; and  now,  when  he  really  stood  on  Eng- 
lish ground,  and  the  palace-door  was  hanging  ajar  for 
him,  he  was  expected  to  turn  back,  a penniless  and 
bamboozled  simpleton,  merely  because  an  iron-hearted 
Consul  refused  to  lend  him  thirty  shillings  (so  low  had 
his  demand  ultimately  sunk)  to  buy  a second-class 
ticket  on  the  rail  for  London  ! 

He  visited  the  Consulate  several  times  afterwards, 
subsisting  on  a pittance  that  I allowed  him  in  the  hope 
of  gradually  starving  him  back  to  Connecticut,  assail- 
ing me  with  the  old  petition  at  every  opportunity,  look- 
ing shabbier  at  every  visit,  but  still  thoroughly  good- 
tempered,  mildly  stubborn,  and  smiling  through  his 
tears,  not  without  a perception  of  the  ludicrousness  of 
his  own  position.  Finally,  he  disappeared  altogether, 
and  whither  he  had  wandered,  and  whether  he  ever 
saw  the  Queen,  or  wasted  quite  away  in  the  endeavor, 
I never  knew  ; but  I remember  unfolding  the  ‘‘  Times,” 
about  that  period,  with  a daily  dread  of  reading  an  ac- 
count of  a ragged  Yankee’s  attempt  to  steal  into  Buck- 
ingham Palace,  and  how  he  smiled  tearfully  at  his 
captors,  and  besought  them  to  introduce  him  to  her 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


33 


Majesty.  I submit  to  Mr.  Secretary  Seward  that  he 
ought  to  make  diplomatic  remonstrances  to  the  Brit- 
ish Ministry,  and  require  them  to  take  such  order  that 
the  Queen  shall  not  any  longer  bewilder  the  wits  of 
our  poor  compatriots  by  responding  to  their  epistles 
and  thanking  them  for  their  photographs. 

One  circumstance  in  the  foregoing  incident  — I 
mean  the  unhappy  storekeeper’s  notion  of  establish- 
ing his  claim  to  an  English  estate  — was  common  to 
a great  many  other  applications,  personal  or  by  letter, 
with  which  I was  favored  by  my  countrymen.  The 
cause  of  this  peculiar  insanity  lies  deep  in  the  Anglo- 
American  heart.  After  all  these  bloody  wars  and 
vindictive  animosities,  we  have  still  an  unspeakable 
yearning  towards  England.  When  our  forefathers 
left  the  old  home,  they  pulled  up  many  of  their  roots, 
but  trailed  along  with  them  others,  which  were  never 
snapt  asunder  by  the  tug  of  such  a lengthening  dis- 
tance, nor  have  been  torn  out  of  the  original  soil  by 
the  violence  of  subsequent  struggles,  nor  severed  by 
the  edge  of  the  sword.  Even  so  late  as  these  days, 
they  remain  entangled  with  our  heart-strings,  and 
might  often  have  influenced  our  national  cause  like 
the  tiller-ropes  of  a ship,  if  the  rough  gripe  of  Eng- 
land had  been  capable  of  managing  so  sensitive  a kind 
of  machinery.  It  has  required  nothing  less  than  the 
boorishness,  the  stolidity,  the  self-sufficiency,  the  con- 
temptuous jealousy,  the  half-sagacity,  invariably  blind 
of  one  eye  and  often  distorted  of  the  other,  that  char- 
acterize this  strange  people,  to  compel  us  to  be  a great 
nation  in  our  own  right,  instead  of  continuing  vir- 
tually, if  not  in  name,  a province  of  their  small  island. 
What  pains  did  they  take  to  shake  us  off,  and  have 
ever  since  taken  to  keep  us  wide  apart  from  them  I 

VOL.  VII.  3 


34 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


It  might  seem  their  folly,  but  was  really  their  fate,  or, 
rather,  the  Providence  of  God,  who  has  doubtless  a 
work  for  us  to  do,  in  which  the  massive  materiality  of 
the  English  character  would  have  been  too  ponderous 
a dead -weight  upon  our  progress.  And,  besides,  if 
England  had  been  wise  enough  to  twine  our  new  vigor 
round  about  her  ancient  strength,  her  power  would 
have  been  too  firmly  established  ever  to  yield,  in  its 
due  season,  to  the  otherwise  immutable  law  of  im- 
perial vicissitude.  The  earth  might  then  have  beheld 
the  intolerable  spectacle  of  a sovereignty  and  institu- 
tions, imperfect,  but  indestructible. 

Nationally,  there  has  ceased  to  be  any  peril  of  so 
inauspicious  and  yet  outwardly  attractive  an  amalga- 
mation. But  as  an  individual,  the  American  is  often 
conscious  of  the  deep-rooted  sympathies  that  belong 
more  fitly  to  times  gone  by,  and  feels  a blind  pathetic 
tendency  to  wander  back  again,  which  makes  itself 
evident  in  such  wild  dreams  as  I have  alluded  to 
above,  about  English  inheritances.  A mere  coinci- 
dence of  names  (the  Yankee  one,  perhaps,  having 
been  assumed  by  legislative  permission),  a suppositi- 
tious pedigree,  a silver  mug  on  which  an  anciently  en- 
graved coat  of  arms  has  been  half  scrubbed  out,  a seal 
with  an  uncertain  crest,  an  old  yellow  letter  or  docu- 
ment in  faded  ink,  the  more  scantily  legible  the  bet- 
ter, — rubbish  of  this  kind,  found  in  a neglected 
drawer,  has  been  potent  enough  to  turn  the  brain  of 
many  an  honest  Republican,  especially  if  assisted  by 
an  advertisement  for  lost  heirs,  cut  out  of  a British 
newspaper.  There  is  no  estimating  or  believing,  till 
we  come  into  a position  to  know  it,  what  foolery  lurks 
latent  in  the  breasts  of  very  sensible  people.  Re- 
membering such  sober  extravagances,  I should  not  be 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


85 


at  all  surprised  to  find  that  I am  myself  guilty  of  some 
unsuspected  absurdity,  that  may  appear  to  me  the 
most  substantial  trait  in  my  character. 

1 might  fill  many  pages  with  instances  of  this  dis- 
eased American  appetite  for  English  soil.  A respect- 
able -looking  woman,  well  advanced  in  life,  of  sour 
aspect,  exceedingly  homely,  but  decidedly  New-Eng- 
landish  in  figure  and  manners,  came  to  my  office  with 
a great  bundle  of  documents,  at  the  very  first  glimpse 
of  which  I apprehended  something  terrible.  Nor  was 
I mistaken.  The  bundle  contained  evidences  of  her 
indubitable  claim  to  the  site  on  which  Castle  Street, 
the  Town  Hall,  the  Exchange,  and  all  the  principal 
business  part  of  Liverpool  have  long  been  situated ; 
and,  with  considerable  peremptoriness,  the  good  lady 
signified  her  expectation  that  1 should  take  charge  of 
her  suit,  and  prosecute  it  to  judgment ; not,  however, 
on  the  equitable  condition  of  receiving  half  the  value 
of  the  property  recovered  (which,  in  case  of  complete 
success,  would  have  made  both  of  us  ten  or  twenty 
fold  millionnaires),  but  without  recompense  or  reim- 
bursement of  legal  expenses,  solely  as  an  incident  of 
my  official  duty.  Another  time  came  two  ladies,  bear- 
ing a letter  of  emphatic  introduction  from  his  Excel- 
lency the  Governor  of  their  native  State,  who  testified 
in  most  satisfactory  terms  to  their  social  respectability. 
They  were  claimants  of  a great  estate  in  Cheshire,  and 
announced  themselves  as  blood-relatives  of  Queen  Vic“ 
toria,  — a point,  however,  which  they  deemed  it  expe- 
dient to  keep  in  the  background  until  their  territorial 
rights  should  be  established,  apprehending  that  the 
Lord  High  Chancellor  might  otherwise  be  less  likely 
to  come  to  a fair  decision  in  respect  to  them,  from  a 
probable  disinclination  to  admit  new  members  into  the 


36 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


royal  kin.  Upon  my  honor,  I imagine  that  they  had 
an  eye  to  the  possibility  of  the  eventual  succession  of 
one  or  both  of  them  to  the  crown  of  Great  Britain 
through  superiority  of  title  over  the  Brunswick  line  ; 
although,  being  maiden  ladies,  like  their  predecessor 
Elizabeth,  they  could  hardly  have  hoped  to  establish  a 
lasting  dynasty  upon  the  throne.  It  proves,  I trust, 
a certain  disinterestedness  on  my  part,  that,  encounter- 
ing them  thus  in  the  dawn  of  their  fortunes,  I forbore 
to  put  in  a plea  for  a future  dukedom. 

Another  visitor  of  the  same  class  was  a gentleman 
of  refined  manners,  handsome  figure,  and  remarkably 
intellectual  aspect.  Like  many  men  of  an  adventur- 
ous cast,  he  had  so  quiet  a deportment,  and  such  an 
apparent  disinclination  to  general  sociability,  that  you 
would  have  fancied  him  moving  always  along  some 
peaceful  and  secluded  walk  of  life.  Yet,  literally  from 
his  first  hour,  he  had  been  tossed  upon  the  surges  of 
a most  varied  and  tumultuous  existence,  having  been 
born  at  sea,  of  American  parentage,  but  on  board  of  a 
Spanish  vessel,  and  spending  many  of  the  subsequent 
years  in  voyages,  travels,  and  outlandish  incidents  and 
vicissitudes,  which,  methought,  had  hardly  been  par- 
alleled since  the  days  of  Gulliver  or  De  Foe.  When 
his  dignified  reserve  was  overcome,  he  had  the  faculty 
of  narrating  these  adventures  with  wonderful  elo- 
quence, working  up  his  descriptive  sketches  with  such 
intuitive  perception  of  the  picturesque  points  that  the 
whole  was  thrown  forward  with  a positively  illusive 
effect,  like  matters  of  your  own  visual  experience.  In 
fact,  they  were  so  admirably  done  that  I could  never 
more  than  half  believe  them,  because  the  genuine  af- 
fairs of  life  are  not  apt  to  transact  themselves  so  artis- 
tically. Many  of  his  scenes  were  laid  in  the  East,  and 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


37 


among  those  seldom-visited  archipelagoes  of  the  In- 
dian Ocean,  so  that  there  was  an  Oriental  fragrance 
breathing  through  his  talk,  and  an  odor  of  the  Spice 
Islands  still  lingering  in  his  garments.  He  had  much 
to  say  of  the  delightful  qualities  of  the  Malay  pirates, 
who,  indeed,  carry  on  a predatory  warfare  against  the 
ships  of  all  civilized  nations,  and  cut  every  Christian 
throat  among  their  prisoners ; but  (except  for  deeds 
of  that  character,  which  are  the  rule  and  habit  of  their 
life,  and  matter  of  religion  and  conscience  with  them) 
they  are  a gentle-natured  people,  of  primitive  inno- 
cence and  integrity. 

But  his  best  story  was  about  a race  of  men  (if  men 
they  were)  who  seemed  so  fully  to  realize  Swift’s 
wicked  fable  of  the  Yahoos,  that  my  friend  was  much 
exercised  with  psychological  speculations  whether  or 
no  they  had  any  souls.  They  dwelt  in  the  wilds  of 
Ceylon,  like  other  savage  beasts,  hairy,  and  spotted 
with  tufts  of  fur,  filthy,  shameless,  weaponless  (though 
warlike  in  their  individual  bent),  tool-less,  houseless, 
language-less,  except  for  a few  guttural  sounds,  hid- 
eously dissonant,  whereby  they  held  some  rudest  kind 
of  communication  among  themselves.  They  lacked 
both  memory  and  foresight,  and  were  wholly  destitute 
of  government,  social  institutions,  or  law  or  rulership 
of  any  description,  except  the  immediate  tyranny  of 
the  strongest ; radically  untamable,  moreover,  save 
that  the  people  of  the  country  managed  to  subject  a 
few  of  the  less  ferocious  and  stupid  ones  to  outdoor 
servitude  among  their  other  cattle.  They  were  beastly 
in  almost  all  their  attributes,  and  that  to  such  a de- 
gree that  the  observer,  losing  sight  of  any  link  be- 
twixt them  and  manhood,  could  generally  witness 
their  brutalities  without  greater  horror  than  at  those 


88 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


of  some  disagreeable  quadruped  in  a menagerie.  And 
yet,  at  times,  comparing  what  were  the  lowest  general 
traits  in  his  own  race  with  what  was  highest  in  these 
abominable  monsters,  he  found  a ghastly  similitude 
that  half  compelled  him  to  recognize  them  as  human 
brethren. 

After  these  Gulliverian  researches,  my  agreeable  ac- 
quaintance had  fallen  under  the  ban  of  the  Dutch  gov- 
ernment, and  had  suffered  (this,  at  least,  being  matter 
of  fact)  nearly  two  years’  imprisonment,  with  confisca- 
tion of  a large  amount  of  property,  for  which  Mr.  Bel- 
mont, our  minister  at  the  Hague,  had  just  made  a 
peremptory  demand  of  reimbursement  and  damages. 
Meanwhile,  since  arriving  in  England  on  his  way  to 
the  United  States,  he  had  been  providentially  led  to 
inquire  into  the  circumstances  of  his  birth  on  ship- 
board, and  had  discovered  that  not  himself  alone,  but 
another  baby,  had  come  into  the  world  during  the 
same  voyage  of  the  prolific  vessel,  and  that  there  were 
almost  irrefragable  reasons  for  believing  that  these 
two  children  had  been  assigned  to  the  wrong  mothers. 
Many  reminiscences  of  his  early  days  confirmed  him 
in  the  idea  that  his  nominal  parents  were  aware  of  the 
exchange.  The  family  to  which  he  felt  authorized  to 
attribute  his  lineage  was  that  of  a nobleman,  in  the 
picture-gallery  of  whose  country-seat  (whence,  if  I 
mistake  not,  our  adventurous  friend  had  just  re- 
turned) he  had  discovered  a portrait  bearing  a strik- 
ing resemblance  to  himself.  As  soon  as  he  should 
have  reported  the  outrageous  action  of  the  Dutch  gov- 
ernment to  President  Pierce  and  the  Secretary  of 
State,  and  recovered  the  confiscated  property,  he  pur- 
posed to  return  to  England  and  establish  his  claim  to 
the  nobleman’s  title  and  estate. 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


39 


I had  accepted  his  Oriental  fantasies  (which,  in« 
deed,  to  do  him  justice,  have  been  recorded  by  scien- 
tific societies  among  the  genuine  phenomena  of  nat- 
ural history),  not  as  matters  of  indubitable  credence, 
but  as  allowable  specimens  of  an  imaginative  travel- 
ler’s vivid  coloring  and  rich  embroidery  on  the  coarse 
texture  and  dull  neutral  tints  of  truth.  The  English 
romance  was  among  the  latest  communications  that  he 
intrusted  to  my  private  ear ; and  as  soon  as  I heard 
the  first  chapter,  — so  wonderfully  akin  to  what  I 
might  have  wrought  out  of  my  own  head,  not  unprac- 
tised in  such  figments,  — I began  to  repent  having 
made  myself  responsible  for  the  future  nobleman’s 
passage  homeward  in  the  next  Collins  steamer.  Never- 
theless, should  his  English  rent-roll  fall  a little  be- 
hindhand, his  Dutch  claim  for  a hundred  thousand 
dollars  was  certainly  in  the  hands  of  our  government, 
and  might  at  least  be  valuable  to  the  extent  of  thirty 
pounds,  which  I had  engaged  to  pay  on  his  behalf. 
But  I have  reason  to  fear  that  his  Dutch  riches  turned 
out  to  be  Dutch  gilt  or  fairy  gold,  and  his  English 
country-seat  a mere  castle  in  the  air,  — which  I ex- 
ceedingly regret,  for  he  was  a delightful  companion 
and  a very  gentlemanly  man. 

A Consul,  in  his  position  of  universal  responsibility^ 
the  general  adviser  and  helper,  sometimes  finds  him- 
self compelled  to  assume  the  guardianship  of  person- 
ages who,  in  their  own  sphere,  are  supposed  capable 
of  superintending  the  highest  interests  of  whole  com- 
munities. An  elderly  Irishman,  a naturalized  citizen, 
once  put  the  desire  and  expectation  of  all  our  penni- 
less vagabonds  into  a very  suitable  phrase,  by  pathet- 
ically entreating  me  to  be  a “ father  to  him  ” ; and, 
simple  as  I sit  scribbling  here,  I have  acted  a father’s 


40 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


part,  not  only  by  scores  of  such  unthrifty  old  children 
as  himself,  but  by  a progeny  of  far  loftier  pretensions. 
It  may  be  well  for  persons  who  are  conscious  of  any 
radical  weakness  in  their  character,  any  besetting  sin, 
any  unlawful  propensity,  any  unhallowed  impulse, 
which  (while  surrounded  with  the  manifold  restraints 
that  protect  a man  from  that  treacherous  and  lifelong 
enemy,  his  lower  self,  in  the  circle  of  society  where 
he  is  at  home)  they  may  have  succeeded  in  keeping 
under  the  lock  and  key  of  strictest  propriety,  — it 
may  be  well  for  them,  before  seeking  the  perilous  free- 
dom of  a distant  land,  released  from  the  watchful  eyes 
of  neighborhoods  and  coteries,  lightened  of  that  weari- 
some burden,  an  immaculate  name,  and  blissfully  ob- 
scure after  years  of  local  prominence,  — it  may  be 
well  for  such  individuals  to  know  that  when  they  set 
foot  on  a foreign  shore,  the  long  - imprisoned  Evil, 
scenting  a wild  license  in  the  unaccustomed  atmos^ 
phere,  is  apt  to  grow  riotous  in  its  iron  cage.  It  rat- 
tles the  rusty  barriers  with  gigantic  turbulence,  and  if 
there  be  an  infirm  joint  anywhere  in  the  framework,  it 
breaks  madly  forth,  compressing  the  mischief  of  a life- 
time into  a little  space. 

A parcel  of  letters  had  been  accumulating  at  the 
Consulate  for  two  or  three  weeks,  directed  to  a certain 
Doctor  of  Divinity,  who  had  left  America  by  a sail- 
ing-packet and  was  still  upon  the  sea.  In  due  time, 
the  vessel  arrived,  and  the  reverend  Doctor  paid  me  a 
visit.  He  was  a fine-looking  middle-aged  gentleman, 
a perfect  model  of  clerical  propriety,  scholar-like,  yet 
with  the  air  of  a man  of  the  world  rather  than  a stu- 
dent, though  overspread  with  the  graceful  sanctity  of 
a popular  metropolitan  divine,  a part  of  whose  duty  it 
might  be  to  exemplify  the  natural  accordance  between 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


41 


Christianity  and  good-breeding.  He  seemed  a little 
excited,  as  an  American  is  apt  to  be  on  first  arriving 
in  England,  but  conversed  with  intelligence  as  well  as 
animation,  making  himself  so  agreeable  that  his  visit 
stood  out  in  considerable  relief  from  the  monotony  of 
my  daily  commonplace.  As  I learned  from  authentic 
sources,  he  was  somewhat  distinguished  in  his  own 
region  for  fervor  and  eloquence  in  the  pulpit,  but  was 
now  compelled  to  relinquish  it  temporarily  for  the 
purpose  of  renovating  his  impaired  health  by  an  ex- 
tensive tour  in  Europe.  Promising  to  dine  with  me, 
he  took  up  his  bundle  of  letters  and  went  away. 

The  Doctor,  however,  failed  to  make  his  appearance 
at  dinner-time,  or  to  apologize  the  next  day  for  his  ab- 
sence ; and  in  the  course  of  a day  or  two  more,  I for- 
got all  about  him,  concluding  that  he  must  have  set 
forth  on  his  Continental  travels,  the  plan  of  which  he 
had  sketched  out  at  our  interview.  But,  by  and  by,  I 
received  a call  from  the  master  of  the  vessel  in  which 
he  had  arrived.  He  was  in  some  alarm  about  his  pas- 
senger, whose  luggage  remained  on  shipboard,  but  of 
whom  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen  since  the  mo- 
ment of  his  departure  from  the  Consulate.  We  con- 
ferred together,  the  captain  and  I,  about  the  expe- 
diency of  setting  the  police  on  the  traces  (if  any  were 
to  be  found)  of  our  vanished  friend ; but  it  struck  me 
that  the  good  captain  was  singularly  reticent,  and  that 
there  was  something  a little  mysterious  in  a few  points 
that  he  hinted  at  rather  than  expressed ; so  that,  scru- 
tinizing the  affair  carefully,  I surmised  that  the  inti- 
macy of  life  on  shipboard  might  have  taught  him  more 
about  the  reverend  gentleman  than,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  he  deemed  it  prudent  to  reveal.  At  home, 
in  our  native  country,  I would  have  looked  to  the  Doc- 


42 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


tor’s  personal  safety  and  left  his  reputation  to  take 
care  of  itself,  knowing  that  the  good  fame  of  a thou- 
sand saintly  clergymen  would  amply  dazzle  out  any 
lamentable  spot  on  a single  brother’s  character.  But 
in  scornful  and  invidious  England,  on  the  idea  that 
the  credit  of  the  sacred  office  was  measurably  intrusted 
to  my  discretion,  I could  not  endure,  for  the  sake  of 
American  Doctors  of  Divinity  generally,  that  this  par- 
ticular Doctor  should  cut  an  ignoble  figure  in  the  po- 
lice reports  of  the  English  newspapers,  except  at  the 
last  necessity.  The  clerical  body,  I flatter  myself,  will 
acknowledge  that  I acted  on  their  own  principle.  Be- 
sides, it  was  now  too  late ; the  mischief  and  violence, 
if  any  had  been  impending,  were  not  of  a kind  which 
it  requires  the  better  part  of  a week  to  perpetrate ; 
and  to  sum  up  the  entire  matter,  I felt  certain,  from  a 
good  deal  of  somewhat  similar  experience,  that,  if  the 
missing  Doctor  still  breathed  this  vital  air,  he  would 
turn  up  at  the  Consulate  as  soon  as  his  money  should 
be  stolen  or  spent. 

Precisely  a week  after  this  reverend  person’s  disap- 
pearance, there  came  to  my  office  a tall,  middle-aged 
gentleman  in  a blue  military  surtout,  braided  at  the 
seams,  but  out  at  elbows,  and  as  shabby  as  if  the 
wearer  had  been  bivouacking  in  it  throughout  a Cri- 
mean campaign.  It  was  buttoned  up  to  the  very  chin, 
except  where  three  or  four  of  the  buttons  were  lost ; 
nor  was  there  any  glimpse  of  a white  shirt-collar  il- 
luminating the  rusty  black  cravat.  A grisly  mustache 
A7as  just  beginning  to  roughen  the  stranger’s  upper 
lip.  He  looked  disreputable  to  the  last  degree,  but 
still  had  a ruined  air  of  good  society  glimmering  about 
him,  like  a few  specks  of  polish  on  a sword-blade  that 
has  lain  corroding  in  a mud-puddle.  I took  him  to  be 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


43 


some  American  marine  officer,  of  dissipated  habits,  or 
perhaps  a cashiered  British  major,  stumbling  into  the 
wrong  quarters  through  the  unrectified  bewilderment 
of  the  last  night’s  debauch.  He  greeted  me,  however, 
with  polite  familiarity,  as  though  we  had  been  previa 
ously  acquainted ; whereupon  I drew  coldly  back  (as? 
sensible  people  naturally  do,  whether  from  strangers 
or  former  friends,  when  too  evidently  at  odds  with 
fortune)  and  requested  to  know  who  my  visitor  might 
be,  and  what  was  his  business  at  the  Consulate.  Am 
I then  so  changed  ? ” he  exclaimed  with  a vast  depth 
of  tragic  intonation  ; and  after  a little  blind  and  be- 
wildered talk,  behold ! the  truth  fiashed  upon  me.  It 
was  the  Doctor  of  Divinity?  If  I had  meditated  a 
scene  or  a coup  de  theatre.^  I could  not  have  contrived 
a more  effectual  one  than  by  this  simple  and  genuine 
difficulty  of  recognition.  The  poor  Divine  must  have 
felt  that  he  had  lost  his  personal  identity  through  the 
misadventures  of  one  little  week.  And,  to  say  the 
truth,  he  did  look  as  if,  like  Job,  on  account  of  his 
especial  sanctity,  he  had  been  delivered  over  to  the 
direst  temptations  of  Satan,  and  proving  weaker  than 
the  man  of  Uz,  the  Arch  Enemy  had  been  empow- 
ered to  drag  him  through  Tophet,  transforming  him, 
in  the  process,  from  the  most  decorous  clergyman 
into  the  rowdiest  and  dirtiest  of  disbanded  officers.  I 
never  fathomed  the  mystery  of  his  military  costume, 
but  conjectured  that  a lurking  sense  of  fitness  had 
induced  him  to  exchange  his  clerical  garments  for  this 
habit  of  a sinner ; nor  can  I tell  precisely  into  what 
pitfall,  not  more  of  vice  than  terrible  calamity,  he  had 
precipitated  himself,  — being  more  than  satisfied  to 
know  that  the  outcasts  of  society  can  sink  no  lower 
than  this  poor,  desecrated  wretch  had  sunk. 


44 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


The  opportunity,  I presume,  does  not  often  happen 
to  a layman,  of  administering  moral  and  religious  re- 
proof to  a Doctor  of  Divinity  ; but  finding  the  occa- 
sion thrust  upon  me,  and  the  hereditary  Puritan  wax- 
ing strong  in  my  breast,  I deemed  it  a matter  of  com 
science  not  to  let  it  pass  entirely  unimproved.  The 
truth  is,  I was  unspeakably  shocked  and  disgustedo 
Not,  however,  that  I was  then  to  learn  that  clergymen 
are  made  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  other  people, 
and  perhaps  lack  one  small  safeguard  which  the  rest 
of  us  possess,  because  they  are  aware  of  their  own  pec- 
cability, and  therefore  cannot  look  up  to  the  clerical 
class  for  the  proof  of  the  possibility  of  a pure  life  on 
earth,  with  such  reverential  confidence  as  we  are  prone 
to  do.  But  I remembered  the  innocent  faith  of  my 
boyhood,  and  the  good  old  silver  - headed  clergyman, 
who  seemed  to  me  as  much  a saint  then  on  earth  as  he 
is  now  in  heaven,  and  partly  for  whose  sake,  through 
all  these  darkening  years,  I retain  a devout,  though 
not  intact  nor  unwavering  respect  for  the  entire  fra- 
ternity. What  a hideous  wrong,  therefore,  had  the 
backslider  inflicted  on  his  brethren,  and  still  more  on 
me,  who  much  needed  whatever  fragments  of  broken 
reverence  (broken,  not  as  concerned  religion,  but  its 
earthly  institutions  and  professors)  it  might  yet  be 
possible  to  patch  into  a sacred  image ! Should  all 
pulpits  and  communion-tables  have  thenceforth  a stain 
upon  them,  and  the  guilty  one  go  unrebuked  for  it  ? 
So  I spoke  to  the  unhappy  man  as  I never  thought 
myself  warranted  in  speaking  to  any  other  mortal, 
hitting  him  hard,  doing  my  utmost  to  find  out  his  vul- 
nerable part,  and  prick  him  into  the  depths  of  it. 
And  not  without  more  effect  than  I had  dreamed  of, 
or  desired ! 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


45 


No  doubt,  the  novelty  of  the  Doctor’s  reversed  posi- 
tion, thus  standing  up  to  receive  such  a fulmination 
as  the  clergy  have  heretofore  arrogated  the  exclusive 
right  of  inflicting,  might  give  additional  weight  and 
sting  to  the  words  which  I found  utterance  for.  But 
there  was  another  reason  (which,  had  I in  the  least 
suspected  it,  would  have  closed  my  lips  at  once)  for 
his  feeling  morbidly  sensitive  to  the  cruel  rebuke  that  I 
administered.  The  unfortunate  man  had  come  to  me, 
laboring  under  one  of  the  consequences  of  his  riotous 
outbreak,  in  the  shape  of  delirium  tremens ; he  bore  a 
hell  within  the  compass  of  his  own  breast,  all  the  tor- 
ments of  which  blazed  up  with  tenfold  inveteracy  when 
I thus  took  upon  myself  the  Devil’s  office  of  stirring- 
up  the  red-hot  embers.  His  emotions,  as  well  as  the 
external  movement  and  expression  of  them  by  voice, 
countenance,  and  gesture,  were  terribly  exaggerated 
by  the  tremendous  vibration  of  nerves  resulting  from 
the  disease.  It  was  the  deepest  tragedy  I ever  wit- 
nessed. I know  sufficiently,  from  that  one  experience, 
how  a condemned  soul  would  manifest  its  agonies ; 
and  for  the  future,  if  I have  anything  to  do  with  sin- 
ners, I mean  to  operate  upon  them  through  sympathy 
and  not  rebuke.  What  had  1 to  do  with  rebuking 
him  ? The  disease,  long  latent  in  his  heart,  had  shown 
itself  in  a frightful  eruption  on  the  surface  of  his  life. 
That  was  all ! Is  it  a thing  to  scold  the  sufferer  for  ? 

To  conclude  this  wretched  story,  the  poor  Doctor  of 
Divinity,  having  been  robbed  of  all  his  money  in  this 
little  airing  beyond  the  limits  of  propriety,  was  easily 
persuaded  to  give  up  the  intended  tour  and  return  to 
his  bereaved  flock,  who,  very  probably,  were  thereafter 
conscious  of  an  increased  unction  in  his  soul-stirring 
eloquence,  without  suspecting  the  awful  depths  into 


46 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


which  their  pastor  had  dived  in  quest  of  it.  His  voice 
is  now  silent.  I leave  it  to  members  of  his  own  pro- 
fession to  decide  whether  it  was  better  for  him  thus  to 
sin  outright,  and  so  to  be  let  into  the  miserable  secret 
what  manner  of  m^^n  he  was,  or  to  have  gone  through 
life  outwardly  unspotted,  making  the  first  discovery  of 
his  latent  evil  at  the  judgment-seat.  It  has  occurred 
to  me  that  his  dire  calamity,  as  both  he  and  I regarded 
it,  might  have  been  the  only  method  by  which  pre- 
cisely such  a man  as  himself,  and  so  situated,  could  be 
redeemed.  He  has  learned,  ere  now,  how  that  matter 
stood. 

For  a man,  with  a natural  tendency  to  meddle  with 
other  people’s  business,  there  could  not  possibly  be  a 
more  congenial  sphere  than  the  Liverpool  Consulate. 
For  myself,  I had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  feeling 
that  I could  sufficiently  comprehend  any  particular 
conjunction  of  circumstances  with  human  character, 
to  justify  me  in  thrusting  in  my  awkward  agency 
among  the  intricate  and  unintelligible  machinery  of 
Providence.  I have  always  hated  to  give  advice,  es- 
pecially when  there  is  a prospect  of  its  being  taken. 
It  is  only  one-eyed  people  who  love  to  advise,  or  have 
any  spontaneous  promptitude  of  action  When  a man 
opens  both  his  eyes,  he  generally  sees  about  as  many 
reasons  for  acting  in  any  one  way  as  in  any  other,  and 
quite  as  many  for  acting  in  neither  ; and  is  therefore 
likely  to  leave  his  friends  to  regulate  their  own  con« 
duct,  and  also  to  remain  quiet  as  regards  his  especial 
affairs  till  necessity  shall  prick  him  onward.  Never- 
theless, the  world  and  individuals  flourish  upon  a con- 
stant succession  of  blunders.  The  secret  of  English 
practical  success  lies  in  their  characteristic  faculty  of 
shutting  one  eye,  whereby  they  get  so  distinct  and  de- 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


47 


cided  a view  of  what  immediately  concerns  them  that 
they  go  stumbling  towards  it  over  a hundred  insure 
mountable  obstacles,  and  achieve  a magnificent  tri- 
umph without  ever  being  aware  of  half  its  difficultieSo 
If  General  McClellan  could  but  have  shut  his  left  eye, 
the  right  one  would  long  ago  have  guided  us  into 
Eichmond.  Meanwhile,  I have  strayed  far  away  from 
the  Consulate,  where,  as  I was  about  to  say,  I was 
compelled,  in  spite  of  my  disinclination,  to  impart  both 
advice  and  assistance  in  multifarious  affairs  that  did 
not  personally  concern  me,  and  presume  that  I effected 
about  as  little  mischief  as  other  men  in  similar  con- 
tingencies. The  duties  of  the  office  carried  me  to 
prisons,  police-courts,  hospitals,  lunatic  asylums,  coro- 
ner’s inquests,  death-beds,  funerals,  and  brought  me 
in  contact  with  insane  people,  criminals,  ruined  specu- 
lators, wild  adventurers,  diplomatists,  brother-consuls, 
and  all  manner  of  simpletons  and  unfortunates,  in 
greater  number  and  variety  than  I had  ever  dreamed 
of  as  pertaining  to  America ; in  addition  to  whom 
there  was  an  equivalent  multitude  of  English  rogues, 
dexterously  counterfeiting  the  genuine  Yankee  articleo 
It  required  great  discrimination  not  to  be  taken  in  by 
these  last-mentioned  scoundrels  ; for  they  knew  how  to 
imitate  our  national  traits,  had  been  at  great  pains  to 
instruct  themselves  as  regarded  American  localities, 
and  were  not  readily  to  be  caught  by  a cross-examina- 
tion as  to  the  topographical  features,  public  institu- 
tions, or  prominent  inhabitants  of  the  places  where 
they  pretended  to  belong.  The  best  shibboleth  I ever 
hit  upon  lay  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  word  been 
which  the  English  invariably  make  to  rhyme  with 
green,”  and  we  Northerners,  at  least  (in  accordance, 
I think,  with  the  custom  of  Shakespeare’s  time),  uni- 
versally pronounce  “ bin.” 


48 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


All  the  matters  that  I have  been  treating  of,  how- 
ever, were  merely  incidental,  and  quite  distinct  from 
the  real  business  of  the  office.  A great  part  of  the 
wear  and  tear  of  mind  and  temper  resulted  from  the 
bad  relations  between  the  seamen  and  officers  of  Amer- 
ican ships.  Scarcely  a morning  passed,  but  that  some 
sailor  came  to  show  the  marks  of  his  ill-usage  on  ship- 
board. Often,  it  was  a whole  crew  of  them,  each  with 
his  broken  head  or  livid  bruise,  and  all  testifying  with 
one  voice  to  a constant  series  of  savage  outrages  dur- 
ing the  voyage ; or,  it  might  be,  they  laid  an  accusa^ 
tion  of  actual  murder,  perpetrated  by  the  first  or  sec- 
ond officers,  with  many  blows  of  steel  - knuckles,  a 
rope’s  end,  or  a marline-spike,  or  by  the  captain,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  with  a shot  of  his  pistol. 
Taking  the  seamen’s  view  of  the  case,  you  would  sup- 
pose that  the  gibbet  was  hungry  for  the  murderers. 
Listening  to  the  captain’s  defence,  you  would  seem  to 
discover  that  he  and  his  officers  were  the  humanest  of 
mortals,  but  were  driven  to  a wholesome  severity  by 
the  mutinous  conduct  of  the  crew,  who,  moreover,  had 
themselves  slain  their  comrade  in  the  drunken  riot 
and  confusion  of  the  first  day  or  two  after  they  were 
shipped.  Looked  at  judicially,  there  appeared  to  be 
no  right  side  to  the  matter,  nor  any  right  side  possi- 
ble in  so  thoroughly  vicious  a system  as  that  of  the 
American  mercantile  marine.  The  Consul  could  do 
little,  except  to  take  depositions,  hold  forth  the  greasy 
Testament  to  be  profaned  anew  with  perjured  kisses, 
and,  in  a few  instances  of  murder  or  manslaughter, 
carry  the  case  before  an  English  magistrate,  who  gen- 
erally decided  that  the  evidence  was  too  contradictory 
to  authorize  the  transmission  of  the  accused  for  trial 
in  America.  The  newspapers  all  over  England  con- 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


49 


tained  paragraphs,  inveighing  against  the  cruelties  of 
American  shipmasters.  The  British  Parliament  took 
up  the  matter  (for  nobody  is  so  humane  as  John  Bull, 
when  his  benevolent  propensities  are  to  be  gratified 
by  finding  fault  with  his  neighbor),  and  caused  Lord 
John  Russell  to  remonstrate  with  our  government  on 
the  outrages  for  which  it  was  responsible  before  the 
world,  and  which  it  failed  to  prevent  or  punish.  The 
American  Secretary  of  State,  old  General  Cass,  re- 
sponded, with  perfectly  astounding  ignorance  of  the 
subject,  to  the  effect  that  the  statements  of  outrages 
had  probably  been  exaggerated,  that  the  present  laws 
of  the  United  States  were  quite  adequate  to  deal  with 
them,  and  that  the  interference  of  the  British  Minis- 
ter was  uncalled  for. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  state  of  affairs  was  really  very 
horrible,  and  could  be  met  by  no  laws  at  that  time  (or 
I presume  now)  in  existence.  I once  thought  of  writ- 
ing a pamphlet  on  the  subject,  but  quitted  the  Consu- 
late before  finding  time  to  effect  my  purpose  ; and  all 
that  phase  of  my  life  immediately  assumed  so  dream- 
like a consistency  that  I despaired  of  making  it  seem 
solid  or  tangible  to  the  public.  And  now  it  looks  dis- 
tant and  dim,  like  troubles  of  a century  ago.  The  ori- 
gin of  the  evil  lay  in  the  character  of  the  seamen, 
scarcely  any  of  whom  were  American,  but  the  off- 
scourings and  refuse  of  all  the  seaports  of  the  world, 
such  stuff  as  piracy  is  made  of,  together  with  a con- 
siderable intermixture  of  returning  emigrants,  and 
a sprinkling  of  absolutely  kidnapped  American  citi- 
zens. Even  with  such  material  the  ships  were  very 
inadequately  manned.  The  shipmaster  found  himself 
upon  the  deep,  with  a vast  responsibility  of  property 
and  human  life  upon  his  hands,  and  no  means  of  sal- 

VOL.  VII.  4 


50 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


vation  except  by  compelling  his  inefficient  and  demor- 
alized crew  to  heavier  exertions  than  could  reasonably 
be  required  of  the  same  number  of  able  seamen.  By 
law  he  had  been  intrusted  with  no  discretion  of  judi- 
cious punishment ; he  therefore  habitually  left  the 
whole  matter  of  discipline  to  his  irresponsible  mates, 
men  often  of  scarcely  a superior  quality  to  the  crew. 
Hence  ensued  a great  mass  of  petty  outrages,  unjusti- 
fiable assaults,  shameful  indignities,  and  nameless  cru- 
elty, demoralizing  alike  to  the  perpetrators  and  the 
sufferers ; these  enormities  fell  into  the  ocean  between 
the  two  countries,  and  could  be  punished  in  neither. 
Many  miserable  stories  come  back  upon  my  memory 
as  I write ; wrongs  that  were  immense,  but  for  which 
nobody  could  be  held  responsible,  and  which,  indeed, 
the  closer  you  looked  into  them,  the  more  they  lost  the 
aspect  of  wilful  misdoing,  and  assumed  that  of  an  in- 
evitable calamity.  It  was  the  fault  of  a system,  the 
misfortune  of  an  individual.  Be  that  as  it  may,  how- 
ever, there  will  be  no  possibility  of  dealing  effectually 
with  these  troubles  as  long  as  we  deem  it  inconsistent 
with  our  national  dignity  or  interests  to  allow  the 
English  courts,  under  such  restrictions  as  may  seem 
fit,  a jurisdiction  over  offences  perpetrated  on  board 
our  vessels  in  mid-ocean. 

In  such  a life  as  this,  the  American  shipmaster  de- 
velops himself  into  a man  of  iron  energies,  dauntless 
courage,  and  inexhaustible  resource,  at  the  expense,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  of  some  of  the  higher  and 
gentler  traits  which  might  do  him  excellent  service  in 
maintaining  his  authority.  The  class  has  deteriorated 
of  late  years  on  account  of  the  narrower  field  of  selec- 
tion, owing  chiefly  to  the  diminution  of  that  excellent 
body  of  respectably  educated  New  England  seamen, 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


51 


from  the  flower  of  whom  the  officers  used  to  be  re- 
cruited. Yet  I found  them,  in  many  cases,  very 
agreeable  and  intelligent  companions,  with  less  non- 
sense about  them  than  landsmen  usually  have,  eschew- 
ers  of  fine-spun  theories,  delighting  in  square  and 
tangible  ideas,  but  occasionally  infested  with  prejm 
dices  that  stuck  to  their  brains  like  barnacles  to  a 
ship’s  bottom.  I never  could  flatter  myself  that  I was 
a general  favorite  with  them.  One  or  two,  perhaps, 
even  now,  would  scarcely  meet  me  on  amicable  terms. 
Endowed  universally  with  a great  pertinacity  of  will, 
they  especially  disliked  the  interference  of  a consul 
with  their  management  on  shipboard ; notwithstand- 
ing which  I thrust  in  my  very  limited  authority  at 
every  available  opening,  and  did  the  utmost  that  lay 
in  my  power,  though  with  lamentably  small  effect, 
towards  enforcing  a better  kind  of  discipline.  They 
thought,  no  doubt  (and  on  plausible  grounds  enoughs 
but  scarcely  appreciating  just  that  one  little  grain  of 
hard  New  England  sense,  oddly  thrown  in  among  the 
flimsier  composition  of  the  Consul’s  character),  that 
he,  a landsman,  a bookman,  and,  as  people  said  of 
him,  a fanciful  recluse,  could  not  possibly  understand 
anything  of  the  difficulties  or  the  necessities  of  a ship- 
master’s position.  But  their  cold  regards  were  rather 
acceptable  than  otherwise,  for  it  is  exceedingly  awk- 
ward to  assume  a judicial  austerity  in  the  morning 
towards  a man  with  whom  you  have  been  hobnobbing 
over  night. 

With  the  technical  details  of  the  business  of  that 
great  Consulate  (for  great  it  then  was,  though  now, 
I fear,  wofully  fallen  off,*  and  perhaps  never  to  be  re- 
vived in  anything  like  its  former  extent),  I did  not 
much  interfere.  They  could  safely  be  left  to  the 


62 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


treatment  of  two  as  faithful,  upright,  and  competent 
subordinates,  both  Englishmen,  as  ever  a man  was 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  with,  in  a line  of  life  alto- 
gether new  and  strange  to  him.  I had  come  over 
with  instructions  to  supply  both  their  places  with 
Americans,  but,  possessing  a happy  faculty  of  know- 
ing my  own  interest  and  the  public’s,  I quietly  kept 
hold  of  them,  being  little  inclined  to  open  the  consu- 
lar doors  to  a spy  of  the  State  Department  or  an  in- 
triguer for  my  own  office.  The  venerable  Vice-Con- 
sul, Mr.  Pearce,  had  witnessed  the  successive  arrivals 
of  a score  of  newly-appointed  Consuls,  shadowy  and 
short-lived  dignitaries,  and  carried  his  reminiscences 
back  to  the  epoch  of  Consul  Maury,  who  was  ap- 
pointed by  Washington,  and  has  acquired  almost  the 
grandeur  of  a mythical  personage  in  the  annals  of  the 
Consulate.  The  principal  clerk,  Mr.  Wilding,  who 
has  since  succeeded  to  the  Vice-Consulship,  was  a man 
of  English  integrity,  — not  that  the  English  are  more 
honest  than  ourselves,  but  only  there  is  a certain 
sturdy  reliableness  common  among  them,  which  we  do 
not  quite  so  invariably  manifest  in  just  these  subordi- 
nate positions,  — of  English  integrity,  combined  with 
American  acuteness  of  intellect,  quick-wittedness,  and 
diversity  of  talent.  It  seemed  an  immense  pity  that 
he  should  wear  out  his  life  at  a desk,  without  a step  in 
advance  from  year’s  end  to  year’s  end,  when,  had  it 
been  his  luck  to  be  born  on  our  side  of  the  water,  his 
bright  faculties  and  clear  probity  would  have  insured 
him  eminent  success  in  whatever  path  he  might  adopt. 
Meanwhile,  it  would  have  been  a sore  mischance  to 
me,  had  any  better  fortune  on  his  part  deprived  me  of 
Mr.  Wilding’s  services. 

A fair  amount  of  common-sense,  some  acquaintance 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


53 


with  the  United  States  Statutes,  an  insight  into  char- 
acter, a tact  of  management,  a general  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  a reasonable  but  not  too  inveterately 
decided  preference  for  his  own  will  and  judgment  over 
those  of  interested  people,  — these  natural  attributes 
and  moderate  acquirements  will  enable  a consul  to 
perform  many  of  his  duties  respectably,  but  not  to 
dispense  with  a great  variety  of  other  qualifications, 
only  attainable  by  long  experience.  Yet,  I think,  few 
consuls  are  so  well  accomplished.  An  appointment  of 
whatever  grade,  in  the  diplomatic  or  consular  service 
of  America,  is  too  often  what  the  English  call  a 
“ job  ” ; that  is  to  say,  it  is  made  on  private  and  per- 
sonal grounds,  without  a paramount  eye  to  the  public 
good  or  the  gentleman’s  especial  fitness  for  the  posi- 
tion. It  is  not  too  much  to  say  (of  course  allowing 
for  a brilliant  exception  here  and  there),  that  an 
American  never  is  thoroughly  qualified  for  a foreign 
post,  nor  has  time  to  make  himself  so,  before  the  rev- 
olution of  the  political  wheel  discards  him  from  his 
office.  Our  country  wrongs  itself  by  permitting  such 
a system  of  unsuitable  appointments,  and,  still  more, 
of  removals  for  no  cause,  just  when  the  incumbent 
might  be  beginning  to  ripen  into  usefulness.  Mere 
ignorance  of  official  detail  is  of  comparatively  small 
moment ; though  it  is  considered  indispensable,  I pre- 
sume, that  a man  in  any  private  capacity  shall  be 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  machinery  and  opera- 
tion of  his  business,  and  shall  not  necessarily  lose  his 
position  on  having  attained  such  knowledge.  But 
there  are  so  many  more  important  things  to  be  thought 
of,  in  the  qualifications  of  a foreign  resident,  that  his 
technical  dexterity  or  clumsiness  is  hardly  worth  men- 
tioning. 


54 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


One  great  part  of  a consul’s  duty,  for  example, 
should  consist  in  building  up  for  himself  a recognized 
position  in  the  society  where  he  resides,  so  that  his 
local  influence  might  be  felt  in  behalf  of  his  own  coum 
try,  and,  so  far  as  they  are  compatible  (as  they  gener- 
ally are  to  the  utmost  extent),  for  the  interests  of  both 
nations.  The  foreign  city  should  know  that  it  has  a 
permanent  inhabitant  and  a hearty  well-wisher  in  him. 
There  are  many  conjunctures  (and  one  of  them  is  now 
upon  us)  where  a long-established,  honored,  and  trusted 
American  citizen,  holding  a public  position  under  our 
government  in  such  a town  as  Liverpool,  might  go  far 
towards  swaying  and  directing  the  sympathies  of  the 
inhabitants.  He  might  throw  his  own  weight  into  the 
balance  against  mischief  - makers ; he  might  have  set 
his  foot  on  the  first  little  spark  of  malignant  purpose, 
which  the  next  wind  may  blow  into  a national  war. 
But  we  wilfully  give  up  all  advantages  of  this  kind. 
The  position  is  totally  beyond  the  attainment  of  an 
American ; there  to  - day,  bristling  all  over  with  the 
porcupine  quills  of  our  Republic,  and  gone  to-morrow, 
just  as  he  is  becoming  sensible  of  the  broader  and 
more  generous  patriotism  which  might  almost  amal- 
gamate with  that  of  England,  without  losing  an  atom 
of  its  native  force  and  flavor.  In  the  changes  that 
appear  to  await  us,  and  some  of  which,  at  least,  can 
hardly  fail  to  be  for  good,  let  us  hope  for  a reform  in 
this  matter. 

For  myself,  as  the  gentle  reader  would  spare  me  the 
trouble  of  saying,  I was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  man  to 
grow  into  such  an  ideal  Consul  as  I have  here  sug« 
gested.  I never  in  my  life  desired  to  be  burdened 
with  public  influence.  I disliked  my  office  from  the 
first,  and  never  came  into  any  good  accordance  with 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


55 


it.  Its  dignity,  so  far  as  it  had  any,  was  an  encum- 
brance ; the  attentions  it  drew  upon  me  (such  as  in- 
vitations to  Mayors’  banquets  and  public  celebrations 
of  all  kinds,  where,  to  my  horror,  I found  myself  ex- 
pected to  stand  up  and  speak)  were  — as  I may  say 
without  incivility  or  ingratitude,  because  there  is  noth- 
ing personal  in  that  sort  of  hospitality  — a bore.  The 
official  business  was  irksome,  and  often  painful.  There 
was  nothing  pleasant  about  the  whole  affair,  except 
the  emoluments  ; and  even  those,  never  too  bounti- 
fully reaped,  were  diminished  by  more  than  half  in  the 
second  or  third  year  of  my  incumbency.  All  this  be- 
ing true,  I was  quite  prepared,  in  advance  of  the  in- 
auguration of  Mr.  Buchanan,  to  send  in  my  resigna- 
tion. When  my  successor  arrived,  I drew  the  long, 
delightful  breath  which  first  made  me  thoroughly  sen- 
sible what  an  unnatural  life  I had  been  leading,  and 
compelled  me  to  admire  myself  for  having  battled  with 
it  so  sturdily.  The  new  - comer  proved  to  be  a very 
genial  and  agreeable  gentleman,  an  F.  F.  V.,  and,  as 
he  pleasantly  acknowledged,  a Southern  Fire-Eater,  — 
an  announcement  to  which  I responded,  with  similar 
good -humor  and  self-complacency,  by  parading  my 
descent  from  an  ancient  line  of  Massachusetts  Puri- 
tans. Since  our  brief  acquaintanceship,  my  fire-eat- 
ing friend  has  had  ample  opportunities  to  banquet  on 
his  favorite  diet,  hot  and  hot,  in  the  Confederate  ser- 
vice. For  myself,  as  soon  as  I was  out  of  office,  the 
retrospect  began  to  look  unreal.  I could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  it  was  I,  — that  figure  whom  they  called  a 
Consul,  — but  a sort  of  Double  Ganger,  who  had  been 
permitted  to  assume  my  aspect,  under  which  he  went 
through  his  shadowy  duties  with  a tolerable  show  of 
efficiency,  while  my  real  self  had  lain,  as  regarded  my 


56 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES, 


proper  mode  of  being  and  acting,  in  a state  of  sns- 
pended  animation. 

The  same  sense  of  illusion  still  pursues  me.  There 
is  some  mistake  in  this  matter.  I have  been  writing 
about  another  man’s  consular  experiences,  with  which, 
through  some  mysterious  medium  of  transmitted  ideas, 
I find  myself  intimately  acquainted,  but  in  which  I 
cannot  possibly  have  had  a personal  interest.  Is  it 
not  a dream  altogether  ? The  figure  of  that  poor 
Doctor  of  Divinity  looks  wonderfully  lifelike ; so  do 
those  of  the  Oriental  adventurer  with  the  visionary 
coronet  above  his  brow,  and  the  moonstruck  visitor  of 
the  Queen,  and  the  poor  old  wanderer,  seeking  his 
native  country  through  English  highways  and  byways 
for  almost  thirty  years ; and  so  would  a hundred 
others  that  I might  summon  up  with  similar  distinct- 
ness. But  were  they  more  than  shadows  ? Surely,  I 
think  not.  Nor  are  these  present  pages  a bit  of  in- 
trusive autobiography.  Let  not  the  reader  wrong  me 
by  supposing  it.  I never  should  have  written  with 
half  such  unreserve,  had  it  been  a portion  of  this  life 
congenial  with  my  nature,  which  I am  living  now,  in- 
stead of  a series  of  incidents  and  characters  entirely 
apart  from  my  own  concerns,  and  on  which  the  qual- 
ities personally  proper  to  me  could  have  had  no  bear- 
ing. Almost  the  only  real  incidents,  as  I see  them 
now,  were  the  visits  of  a young  English  friend,  a 
scholar  and  a literary  amateur,  between  whom  and 
myself  there  sprung  up  an  affectionate,  and,  I trust, 
not  transitory  regard.  He  used  to  come  and  sit  or 
stand  by  my  fireside,  talking  vivaciously  and  elo- 
quently with  me  about  literature  and  life,  his  own 
national  characteristics  and  mine,  with  such  kindly  en« 
durance  of  the  many  rough  republicanisms  wherewith 


CONSULAR  EXPERIENCES. 


57 


I assailed  him,  and  such  frank  and  amiable  assertion 
of  all  sorts  of  English  prejudices  and  mistakes,  that  I 
understood  his  countrymen  infinitely  the  better  for 
him,  and  was  almost  prepared  to  love  the  intensest 
Englishman  of  them  all,  for  his  sake.  It  would 
gratify  my  cherished  remembrance  of  this  dear  friend, 
if  I could  manage,  without  offending  him,  or  letting 
the  public  know  it,  to  introduce  his  name  upon  my 
page.  Bright  was  the  illumination  of  my  dusky  little 
apartment,  as  often  as  he  made  his  appearance  there  ! 

The  English  sketches  which  I have  been  offering  to 
the  public  comprise  a few  of  the  more  external,  and 
therefore  more  readily  manageable,  things  that  I took 
note  of,  in  many  escapes  from  the  imprisonment  of  my 
consular  servitude.  Liverpool,  though  not  very  de- 
lightful as  a place  of  residence,  is  a most  convenient 
and  admirable  point  to  get  away  from.  London  is 
only  five  hours  off  by  the  fast  train.  Chester,  the  most 
curious  town  in  England,  with  its  encompassing  wall, 
its  ancient  rows,  and  its  venerable  cathedral,  is  close 
at  hand.  North  Wales,  with  all  its  hills  and  ponds, 
its  noble  sea-scenery,  its  multitude  of  gray  castles  and 
strange  old  villages,  may  be  glanced  at  in  a summer 
day  or  two.  The  lakes  and  mountains  of  Cumberland 
and  Westmoreland  may  be  reached  before  dinner-time. 
The  haunted  and  legendary  Isle  of  Man,  a little  king- 
dom by  itself,  lies  within  the  scope  of  an  afternoon’s 
voyage.  Edinburgh  or  Glasgow  are  attainable  over 
night,  and  Loch  Lomond  betimes  in  the  morning.  Vis- 
iting these  famous  localities,  and  a great  many  others, 
I hope  that  I do  not  compromise  my  American  patriot- 
ism by  acknowledging  that  I was  often  conscious  of  a 
fervent  hereditary  attachment  to  the  native  soil  of  our 
forefathers,  and  felt  it  to  be  our  own  Old  Home. 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


In  the  course  of  several  visits  and  stays  of  consid- 
erable length  we  acquired  a homelike  feeling  towards 
Leamington,  and  came  back  thither  again  and  again, 
chiefly  because  we  had  been  there  before.  W andering 
and  wayside  people,  such  as  we  had  long  since  become, 
retain  a few  of  the  instincts  that  belong  to  a more  set- 
tled way  of  life,  and  often  prefer  familiar  and  com- 
monplace objects  (for  the  very  reason  that  they  are 
so)  to  the  dreary  strangeness  of  scenes  that  might  be 
thought  much  better  worth  the  seeing.  There  is  a 
small  nest  of  a place  in  Leamington  — at  No.  10 
Lansdowne  Circus  — upon  which,  to  this  day,  my  remi- 
niscences are  apt  to  settle  as  one  of  the  cosiest  nooks 
in  England  or  in  the  world ; not  that  it  had  any  spe- 
cial charm  of  its  own,  but  only  that  we  stayed  long 
enough  to  know  it  well,  and  even  to  grow  a little  tired 
of  it.  In  my  opinion,  the  very  tediousness  of  home 
and  friends  makes  a part  of  what  we  love  them  for ; if 
it  be  not  mixed  in  sufficiently  with  the  other  elements 
of  life,  there  may  be  mad  enjoyment,  but  no  happiness. 

The  modest  abode  to  which  I have  alluded  forms 
one  of  a circular  range  of  pretty,  moderate-sized,  two- 
story  houses,  all  built  on  nearly  the  same  plan,  and  each 
provided  with  its  little  grass-plot,  its  flowers,  its  tufts 
of  box  trimmed  into  globes  and  other  fantastic  shapes, 
and  its  verdant  hedges  shutting  the  house  in  from  the 
common  drive,  and  dividing  it  from  its  equally  cosey 
neighbors.  Coming  out  of  the  door,  and  taking  a turn 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


59 


round  tlie  circle  of  sister-dwellings,  it  is  difficult  to 
find  your  way  back  by  any  distinguishing  individual- 
ity of  your  own  habitation.  In  the  centre  of  the  Cir- 
cus is  a space  fenced  in  with  iron  railing,  a small  play- 
place  and  sylvan  retreat  for  the  children  of  the  pre- 
cinct,  permeated  by  brief  paths  through  the  fresh  Eng- 
lish grass,  and  shadowed  by  various  shrubbery ; amid 
which,  if  you  like,  you  may  fancy  yourself  in  a deep 
seclusion,  though  probably  the  mark  of  eye-shot  from 
the  windows  of  all  the  surrounding  houses.  But,  in 
truth,  with  regard  to  the  rest  of  the  town  and  the 
world  at  large,  an  abode  here  is  a genuine  seclusion ; 
for  the  ordinary  stream  of  life  does  not  run  through 
this  little,  quiet  pool,  and  few  or  none  of  the  inhabi- 
tants seem  to  be  troubled  with  any  business  or  outside 
activities.  I used  to  set  them  down  as  half-pay  offi- 
cers, dowagers  of  narrow  income,  elderly  maiden  ladies, 
and  other  people  of  respectability,  but  small  account, 
such  as  hang  on  the  world’s  skirts,  rather  than  actually 
belong  to  it.  The  quiet  of  the  place  was  seldom  dis- 
turbed, except  by  the  grocer  and  butcher,  who  came  to 
receive  orders  ; or  by  the  cabs,  hackney-coaches,  and 
Bath-chairs,  in  which  the  ladies  took  an  infrequent  air- 
ing ; or  the  livery-steed  which  the  retired  captain  some- 
times bestrode  for  a morning  ride ; or  by  the  red-coated 
postman  who  went  his  rounds  twice  a day  to  deliver 
letters,  and  again  in  the  evening,  ringing  a hand-bell, 
to  take  letters  for  the  mail.  In  merely  mentioning 
these  slight  interruptions  of  its  sluggish  stillness,  I 
seem  to  myself  to  disturb  too  much  the  atmosphere  of 
quiet  that  brooded  over  the  spot ; whereas  its  impress 
sion  upon  me  was,  that  the  world  had  never  found  the 
way  hither,  or  had  forgotten  it,  and  that  the  fortunate 
inhabitants  were  the  only  ones  who  possessed  the  spell- 


60 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


word  of  admittance.  Nothing  could  have  suited  me 
better,  at  the  time ; for  I had  been  holding  a position 
of  public  servitude,  which  imposed  upon  me  (among 
a great  many  lighter  duties)  the  ponderous  necessity 
of  being  universally  civil  and  sociable. 

Nevertheless,  if  a man  were  seeking  the  bustle  of 
society,  he  might  find  it  more  readily  in  Leamington 
than  in  most  other  English  towns.  It  is  a permanent 
watering-place,  a sort  of  institution  to  which  I do  not 
know  any  close  parallel  in  American  life : for  such 
places  as  Saratoga  bloom  only  for  the  summer-season, 
and  offer  a thousand  dissimilitudes  even  then ; while 
Leamington  seems  to  be  always  in  fiower,  and  serves 
as  a home  to  the  homeless  all  the  year  round.  Its 
original  nucleus,  the  plausible  excuse  for  the  town’s 
coming  into  prosperous  existence,  lies  in  the  fiction  of 
a chalybeate  well,  which,  indeed,  is  so  far  a reality 
that  out  of  its  magical  depths  have  gushed  streets, 
groves,  gardens,  mansions,  shops,  and  churches,  and 
spread  themselves  along  the  banks  of  the  little  river 
Learn.  This  miracle  accomplished,  the  beneficent 
fountain  has  retired  beneath  a pump-room,  and  ap- 
pears to  have  given  up  all  pretensions  to  the  remedial 
virtues  formerly  attributed  to  it.  I know  not  whether 
its  waters  are  ever  tasted  nowadays ; but  not  the  less 
does  Leamington  — in  pleasant  W arwickshire,  at  the 
very  midmost  point  of  England,  in  a good  hunting 
neighborhood,  and  surrounded  by  country-seats  and 
castles  — continue  to  be  a resort  of  transient  visitors, 
and  the  more  permanent  abode  of  a class  of  genteel, 
unoccupied,  well  - to  - do,  but  not  very  wealthy  people, 
such  as  are  hardly  known  among  ourselves.  Persons 
who  have  no  country-houses,  and  whose  fortunes  are 
inadequate  to  a London  expenditure,  find  here,  I sup- 
pose, a sort  of  town  and  country  life  in  one. 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


61 


In  its  present  aspect  the  town  is  of  no  great  age. 
In  contrast  with  the  antiquity  of  many  places  in  its 
neighborhood,  it  has  a bright,  new  face,  and  seems  al- 
most to  smile  even  amid  the  sombreness  of  an  English 
autumn.  Nevertheless,  it  is  hundreds  upon  hundreds 
of  years  old,  if  we  reckon  up  that  sleepy  lapse  of  time 
during  which  it  existed  as  a small  village  of  thatched 
houses,  clustered  round  a priory  ; and  it  would  still 
have  been  precisely  such  a rural  village,  but  for  a cer- 
tain Dr.  Jephson,  who  lived  within  the  memory  of 
man,  and  who  found  out  the  magic  well,  and  foresaw 
what  fairy  wealth  might  be  made  to  flow  from  it.  A 
public  garden  has  been  laid  out  along  the  margin  of 
the  Learn,  and  called  the  Jephson  Garden,  in  honor  of 
him  who  created  the  prosperity  of  his  native  spot.  A 
little  way  within  the  garden-gate  there  is  a circular 
temple  of  Grecian  architecture,  beneath  the  dome  of 
which  stands  a marble  statue  of  the  good  Doctor,  very 
well  executed,  and  representing  him  with  a face  of 
fussy  activity  and  benevolence  : just  the  kind  of  man, 
if  luck  favored  him,  to  build  up  the  fortunes  of  those 
about  him,  or,  quite  as  probably,  to  blight  his  whole 
neighborhood  by  some  disastrous  speculation. 

The  Jephson  Garden  is  very  beautiful,  like  most 
other  English  pleasure-grounds ; for,  aided  by  their 
moist  climate  and  not  too  fervid  sun,  the  landscape- 
gardeners  excel  in  converting  flat  or  tame  surfaces 
into  attractive  scenery,  chiefly  through  the  skilful  ar- 
rangement of  trees  and  shrubbery.  An  Englishman 
aims  at  this  effect  even  in  the  little  patches  under  the 
windows  of  a suburban  villa*  and  achieves  it  on  a 
larger  scale  in  a tract  of  many  acres.  The  Garden  is 
shadowed  with  trees  of  a fine  growth,  standing  alone, 
or  in  dusky  groves  and  dense  entanglements,  pervaded 


62 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


by  woodland  paths  ; and  emerging  from  these  pleas- 
ant glooms,  we  come  upon  a breadth  of  sunshine, 
where  the  greensward  — so  vividly  green  that  it  has 
a kind  of  lustre  in  it  — is  spotted  with  beds  of  gem- 
like flowers.  Rustic  chairs  and  benches  are  scattered 
about,  some  of  them  ponderously  fashioned  outf  of  the 
stumps  of  obtruncated  trees,  and  others  more  artfully 
made  with  intertwining  branches,  or  perhaps  an  imi- 
tation of  such  frail  handiwork  in  iron.  In  a central 
part  of  the  Garden  is  an  archery-ground,  where  laugh- 
ing maidens  practise  at  the  butts,  generally  missing 
their  ostensible  mark,  but,  by  the  mere  grace  of  their 
action,  sending  an  unseen  shaft  into  some  young  man’s 
heart.  There  is  space,  moreover,  within  these  pre- 
cincts, for  an  artificial  lake,  with  a little  green  island 
in  the  midst  of  it;  both  lake  and  island  being  the 
haunt  of  swans,  whose  aspect  and  movement  in  the 
water  are  most  beautiful  and  stately,  — most  infirm, 
disjointed,  and  decrepit,  when,  unadvisedly,  they  see 
fit  to  emerge,  and  try  to  walk  upon  dry  land.  In  the 
latter  case,  they  look  like  a breed  of  uncommonly  ill- 
contrived  geese  ; and  I record  the  matter  here  for  the 
sake  of  the  moral,  — that  we  should  never  pass  judg- 
ment on  the  merits  of  any  person  or  thing,  unless  we 
behold  them  in  the  sphere  and  circumstances  to  which 
they  are  specially  adapted.  In  still  another  part  of 
the  Garden  there  is  a labyrinthine  maze  formed  of  an 
intricacy  of  hedge-bordered  walks,  involving  himself 
in  which,  a man  might  wander  for  hours  inextricably 
within  a circuit  of  only  a few  yards.  It  seemed  to  me 
a sad  emblem  of  the  mental  and  moral  perplexities 
in  which  we  sometimes  go  astray,  petty  in  scope,  yet 
large  enough  to  entangle  a lifetime,  and  bewilder  us 
with  a weary  movement,  but  no  genuine  progress. 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


63 


The  Learn,  — the  ‘‘  high  oomplexioned  Learn,”  as 
Drayton  calls  it,  — after  drowsing  across  the  principal 
street  of  the  town,  beneath  a handsome  bridge,  skirts 
along  the  margin  of  the  Garden  without  any  percepti- 
ble flow.  Heretofore  I had  fancied  the  Concord  the 
laziest  river  in  the  world,  but  now  assign  that  amiable 
distinction  to  the  little  English  stream.  Its  water  is 
by  no  means  transparent,  but  has  a greenish,  goose- 
puddly  hue,  which,  however,  accords  well  with  the 
other  coloring  and  characteristics  of  the  scene,  and  is 
disagreeable  neither  to  sight  nor  smell.  Certainly, 
this  river  is  a perfect  feature  of  that  gentle  pictur- 
esqueness in  which  England  is  so  rich,  sleeping,  as  it 
does,  beneath  a margin  of  willows  that  droop  into  its 
bosom,  and  other  trees,  of  deeper  verdure  than  our 
own  country  can  boast,  inclining  lovingly  over  it.  On 
the  Garden-side  it  is  bordered  by  a shadowy,  secluded 
grove,  with  winding  paths  among  its  boskiness,  afford- 
ing many  a peep  at  the  river’s  imperceptible  lapse  and 
tranquil  gleam ; and  on  the  opposite  shore  stands  the 
priory-church,  with  its  churchyard  full  of  shrubbery 
and  tombstones. 

The  business  portion  of  the  town  clusters  about  the 
banks  of  the  Learn,  and  is  naturally  densest  around 
the  well  to  which  the  modern  settlement  owes  its  exist- 
ence. Here  are  the  commercial  inns,  the  post-office, 
the  furniture  - dealers,  the  iron  - mongers,  and  all  the 
heavy  and  homely  establishments  that  connect  them- 
selves even  with  the  airiest  modes  of  human  life; 
while  upward  from  the  river,  by  a long  and  gentle  as- 
cent, rises  the  principal  street,  which  is  very  bright 
and  cheerful  in  its  physiognomy,  and  adorned  with 
shop-fronts  almost  as  splendid  as  those  of  London, 
though  on  a diminutive  scale.  There  are  likewise 


G4 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


side-streets  and  cross-streets,  many  of  which  are  bor- 
dered with  the  beautiful  Warwickshire  elm,  a most 
unusual  kind  of  adornment  for  an  English  town ; and 
spacious  avenues,  wide  enough  to  afford  room  for 
stately  groves,  with  foot-paths  running  beneath  the 
lofty  shade,  and  rooks  cawing  and  chattering  so  high 
in  the  tree-tops  that  their  voices  get  musical  before 
reaching  the  earth.  The  houses  are  mostly  built  in 
blocks  and  ranges,  in  which  every  separate  tenement 
is  a repetition  of  its  fellow,  though  the  architecture  of 
the  different  ranges  is  sufficiently  various.  Some  of 
them  are  almost  palatial  in  size  and  sumptuousness 
of  arrangement.  Then,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
there  are  detached  villas,  enclosed  within  that  sepa- 
rate domain  of  high  stone  fence  and  embowered  shrub- 
bery which  an  Englishman  so  loves  to  build  and  plant 
around  his  abode,  presenting  to  the  public  only  an 
iron  gate,  with  a gravelled  carriage  - drive  winding 
away  towards  the  half-hidden  mansion.  Whether  in 
street  or  suburb,  Leamington  may  fairly  be  called 
beautiful,  and,  at  some  points,  magnificent ; but  by 
and  by  you  become  doubtfully  suspicious  of  a some- 
what unreal  finery : it  is  pretentious,  though  not  glar- 
ingly so ; it  has  been  built  with  malice  aforethought, 
as  a place  of  gentility  and  enjoyment.  Moreover, 
splendid  as  the  houses  look,  and  comfortable  as  they 
often  are,  there  is  a nameless  something  about  them, 
betokening  that  they  have  not  grown  out  of  human 
hearts,  but  are  the  creations  of  a skilfully  applied  hu- 
man intellect:  no  man  has  reared  any  one  of  them, 
whether  stately  or  humble,  to  be  his  life-long  resi- 
dence, wherein  to  bring  up  his  children,  who  are  to 
inherit  it  as  a home.  They  are  nicely  contrived 
lodging-houses,  one  and  all,  — the  best  as  well  as  the 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


65 


shabbiest  o£  them,  — and  therefore  inevitably  lack 
some  nameless  property  that  a home  should  have. 
This  was  the  case  with  our  own  little  snuggery  in 
Lansdowne  Circus,  as  with  all  the  rest ; it  had  not 
grown  out  of  anybody’s  individual  need,  but  was  built 
to  let  or  sell,  and  was  therefore  like  a ready-made  gar- 
ment, — a tolerable  fit,  but  only  tolerable. 

All  these  blocks,  ranges,  and  detached  villas  are 
adorned  with  the  finest  and  most  aristocratic  names 
that  I have  found  anywhere  in  England,  except  per- 
haps, in  Bath,  which  is  the  great  metropolis  of  that 
second-class  gentility  with  which  watering  - places  are 
chiefly  populated.  Lansdowne  Crescent,  Lansdowne 
Circus,  Lansdowne  Terrace,  Regent  Street,  Warwick 
Street,  Clarendon  Street,  the  Upper  and  Lower  Par- 
ade ; such  are  a few  of  the  designations.  Parade,  in- 
deed, is  a well-chosen  name  for  the  principal  street, 
along  which  the  population  of  the  idle  town  draws 
itself  out  for  daily  review  and  display.  I only  wish 
that  my  descriptive  powers  would  enable  me  to  throw 
off  a picture  of  the  scene  at  a sunny  noontide,  individ- 
ualizing each  character  with  a touch ; the  great  peo- 
ple alighting  from  their  carriages  at  the  principal 
shop-doors ; the  elderly  ladies  and  infirm  Indian  offi- 
cers drawn  along  in  Bath-chairs  ; the  comely,  rather 
than  pretty,  English  girls,  with  their  deep,  healthy 
bloom,  which  an  American  taste  is  apt  to  deem  fitter 
for  a milkmaid  than  for  a lady ; the  mustached  gentle- 
men with  frogged  surtouts  and  a military  air ; the 
nursemaids  and  chubby  children,  but  no  chubbier  than 
our  own,  and  scampering  on  slenderer  legs ; the  sturdy 
figure  of  John  Bull  in  all  varieties  and  of  all  ages,  but 
ever  with  the  stamp  of  authenticity  somewhere  about 
him. 


VOL.  VII. 


5 


66 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


To  say  the  truth,  I have  been  holding  the  pen  over 
my  paper,  purposing  to  write  a descriptive  paragraph 
or  two  about  the  throng  on  the  principal  Parade  of 
Leamington,  so  arranging  it  as  to  present  a sketch  of 
the  British  out-of-door  aspect  on  a morning  walk  of 
gentility ; but  I find  no  personages  quite  sufficiently 
distinct  and  individual  in  my  memory  to  supply  the 
materials  of  such  a panorama.  Oddly  enough,  the  only 
figure  that  comes  fairly  forth  to  my  mind’s  eye  is  that 
of  a dowager,  one  of  hundreds  whom  I used  to  marvel 
at,  all  over  England,  but  who  have  scarcely  a represen- 
tative among  our  own  ladies  of  autumnal  life,  so  thin, 
careworn,  and  frail,  as  age  usually  makes  the  latter. 

I have  heard  a good  deal  of  the  tenacity  with  which 
English  ladies  retain  their  personal  beauty  to  a late 
period  of  life  ; but  (not  to  suggest  that  an  American 
eye  needs  use  and  cultivation  before  it  can  quite  ap- 
preciate the  charm  of  English  beauty  at  any  age)  it 
strikes  me  that  an  English  lady  of  fifty  is  apt  to  be- 
come a creature  less  refined  and  delicate,  so  far  as  her 
physique  goes,  than  anything  that  we  Western  people 
class  under  the  name  of  woman.  She  has  an  awful 
ponderosity  of  frame,  not  pulpy,  like  the  looser  devel- 
opment of  our  few  fat  women,  but  massive  with  solid 
beef  and  streaky  tallow ; so  that  (though  struggling 
manfully  against  the  idea)  you  inevitably  think  of  her 
as  made  up  of  steaks  and  sirloins.  When  she  walks, 
her  advance  is  elephantine.  When  she  sits  down,  it 
is  on  a great  round  space  of  her  Maker’s  footstool, 
where  she  looks  as  if  nothing  could  ever  move  her. 
She  imposes  awe  and  respect  by  the  muchness  of  her 
personality,  to  such  a degree  that  you  probably  credit 
her  with  far  greater  moral  and  intellectual  force  than 
she  can  fairly  claim.  Her  visage  is  usually  grim  and 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


67 


stern,  seldom  positively  forbidding,  yet  calmly  terri- 
ble, not  merely  by  its  breadth  and  weight  of  feature, 
but  because  it  seems  to  express  so  much  well-founded 
self-reliance,  such  acquaintance  with  the  world,  its 
toils,  troubles,  and  dangers,  and  such  sturdy  capacity 
for  trampling  down  a foe.  Without  anything  posh 
tively  salient,  or  actively  offensive,  or,  indeed,  unjustly 
formidable  to  her  neighbors,  she  has  the  effect  of  a 
seventy-four  gun-ship  in  time  of  peace  ; for,  while  you 
assure  yourself  that  there  is  no  real  danger,  you  can- 
not help  thinking  how  tremendous  would  be  her  onset 
if  pugnaciously  inclined,  and  how  futile  the  effort  to 
inflict  any  counter  - in  jury.  She  certainly  looks  ten- 
fold — nay,  a hundred-fold  — better  able  to  take  care 
of  herself  than  our  slender-framed  and  haggard  wa 
mankind ; but  I have  not  found  reason  to  suppose 
that  the  English  dowager  of  fifty  has  actually  greater 
courage,  fortitude,  and  strength  of  character  than  our 
women  of  similar  age,  or  even  a tougher  physical  en- 
durance than  they.  Morally,  she  is  strong,  I suspect, 
only  in  society,  and  in  the  common  routine  of  social 
affairs,  and  would  be  found  powerless  and  timid  in 
any  exceptional  strait  that  might  call  for  energy  out- 
side of  the  conventionalities  amid  which  she  has  grown 
up. 

You  can  meet  this  figure  in  the  street,  and  live, 
and  even  smile  at  the  recollection.  But  conceive  of 
her  in  a ball-room,  with  the  bare,  brawny  arms  that 
she  invariably  displays  there,  and  all  the  other  cor- 
responding development,  such  as  is  beautiful  in  the 
maiden  blossom,  but  a spectacle  to  howl  at  in  such  an 
over-blown  cabbage-rose  as  this. 

Yet,  somewhere  in  this  enormous  bulk  there  must 
be  hidden  the  modest,  slender,  violet-nature  of  a girl, 


68 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


whom  an  alien  mass  of  earthliness  has  unkindly  over- 
grown ; for  an  English  maiden  in  her  teens,  though 
very  seldom  so  pretty  as  our  own  damsels,  possesses, 
to  say  the  truth,  a certain  charm  of  half  - blossom, 
and  delicately  folded  leaves,  and  tender  womanhood 
shielded  by  maidenly  reserves,  with  which,  somehow 
or  other,  our  American  girls  often  fail  to  adorn  them- 
selves during  an  appreciable  moment.  It  is  a pity 
that  the  English  violet  should  grow  into  such  an  out- 
rageously developed  peony  as  I have  attempted  to  de- 
scribe. I wonder  whether  a middle  - aged  husband 
ought  to  be  considered  as  legally  married  to  all  the 
accretions  that  have  overgrown  the  slenderness  of  his 
bride,  since  he  led  her  to  the  altar,  and  which  make 
her  so  much  more  than  he  ever  bargained  for!  Is  it 
not  a sounder  view  of  the  case,  that  the  matrimonial 
bond  cannot  be  held  to  include  the  three  fourths  of 
the  wife  that  had  no  existence  when  the  ceremony  was 
performed  ? And  as  a matter  of  conscience  and  good 
morals,  ought  not  an  English  married  pair  to  insist 
upon  the  celebration  of  a silver- wedding  at  the  end  of 
twenty -five  years,  in  order  to  legalize  and  mutually 
appropriate  that  corporeal  growth  of  which  both  par- 
ties have  individually  come  into  possession  since  they 
were  pronounced  one  flesh  ? 

The  chief  enjoyment  of  my  several  visits  to  Leam- 
ington lay  in  rural  walks  about  the  neighborhood,  and 
in  jaunts  to  places  of  note  and  interest,  which  are  par- 
ticularly abundant  in  that  region.  The  high-roads  are 
made  pleasant  to  the  traveller  by  a border  of  trees, 
and  often  afford  him  the  hospitality  of  a wayside 
Dench  beneath  a comfortable  shade.  But  a fresher 
delight  is  to  be  found  in  the  foot-paths,  which  go  wan- 
dering away  from  stile  to  stile,  along  hedges,  and 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


69 


across  broad  fields,  and  . through  wooded  parks,  lead- 
ing you  to  little  hamlets  of  thatched  cottages,  ancient, 
solitary  farm  - houses,  picturesque  old  mills,  stream- 
lets, pools,  and  all  those  quiet,  secret,  unexpected,  yet 
strangely  familiar  features  of  English  scenery  that 
Tennyson  shows  us  in  his  idyls  and  eclogues.  These 
by-paths  admit  the  wayfarer  into  the  very  heart  of 
rural  life,  and  yet  do  not  burden  him  with  a sense  of 
intrusiveness.  He  has  a right  to  go  whithersoever 
they  lead  him  ; for,  with  all  their  shaded  privacy,  they 
are  as  much  the  property  of  the  public  as  the  dusty 
high-road  itself,  and  even  by  an  older  tenure.  Their 
antiquity  probably  exceeds  that  of  the  Roman  ways  ; 
the  footsteps  of  the  aboriginal  Britons  first  wore  away 
the  grass,  and  the  natural  flow  of  intercourse  between 
village  and  village  has  kept  the  track  bare  ever  since. 
An  American  farmer  would  plough  across  any  such 
path,  and  obliterate  it  with  his  hills  of  potatoes  and 
Indian  corn  ; but  here  it  is  protected  by  law,  and  still 
more  by  the  sacredness  that  inevitably  springs  up,  in 
this  soil,  along  the  well-defined  footprints  of  centuries. 
Old  associations  are  sure  to  be  fragrant  herbs  in  Eng- 
lish nostrils , we  pull  them  up  as  weeds. 

I remember  such  a path,  the  access  to  which  is  from 
Lovers’  Grove,  a range  of  tall  old  oaks  and  elms  on 
a high  hill-top,  whence  there  is  a view  of  Warwick 
Castle,  and  a wide  extent  of  landscape,  beautiful, 
though  bedimmed  with  English  mist.  This  particular 
foot-path,  however,  is  not  a remarkably  good  specimen 
of  its  kind,  since  it  leads  into  no  hollows  and  seclu- 
sions, and  soon  terminates  in  a high-road.  It  con- 
nects Leamington  by  a short  cut  with  the  small  neigh- 
boring village  of  Lillington,  a place  which  impresses 
an  American  observer  with  its  many  points  of  contrast 


70 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


to  the  rural  aspects  of  his  own  country.  The  village 
consists  chiefly  of  one  row  of  contiguous  dwellings, 
separated  only  by  party-walls,  but  ill-matched  among 
themselves,  being  of  different  heights,  and  apparently 
of  various  ages,  though  all  are  of  an  antiquity  which 
we  should  call  venerable.  Some  of  the  windows  are 
leaden  - framed  lattices  opening  on  hinges.  These 
houses  are  mostly  built  of  gray  stone  ; but  others,  in 
the  same  range,  are  of  brick,  and  one  or  two  are  in  a 
very  old  fashion,  — Elizabethan,  or  still  older,  — hav- 
ing a ponderous  frame-work  of  oak,  painted  black,  and 
filled  in  with  plastered  stone  or  bricks.  Judging  by 
the  patches  of  repair,  the  oak  seems  to  be  the  more 
durable  part  of  the  structure.  Some  of  the  roofs  are 
covered  with  earthen  tiles  ; others  (more  decayed  and 
poverty-stricken)  with  thatch,  out  of  which  sprouts  a 
luxurious  vegetation  of  grass,  house-leeks,  and  yellow 
flowers.  What  especially  strikes  an  American  is  the 
lack  of  that  insulated  space,  the  intervening  gardens, 
grass  - plots,  orchards,  broad  - spreading  shade  - trees, 
which  occur  between  our  own  village-houses.  These 
English  dwellings  have  no  such  separate  surroimdings ; 
they  all  grow  together,  like  the  cells  of  a honeycomb. 

Beyond  the  first  row  of  houses,  and  hidden  from  it 
by  a turn  of  the  road,  there  was  another  row  (or  block, 
as  we  should  call  it)  of  small  old  cottages,  stuck  one 
against  another,  with  their  thatched  roofs  forming  a 
single  contiguity.  These,  I presume,  were  the  habita^ 
tions  of  the  poorest  order  of  rustic  laborers  ; and  the 
narrow  precincts  of  each  cottage,  as  well  as  the  close 
neighborhood  of  the  whole,  gave  the  impression  of  a 
stifled,  unhealthy  atmosphere  among  the  occupants. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  there  should  be  a cleanly 
reserve,  a proper  self-respect  among  individuals,  or  a 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


71 


wholesome  unfamiliarity  between  families  where  hu- 
man life  was  crowded  and  massed  into  such  intimate 
communities  as  these.  Nevertheless,  not  to  look  be- 
yond the  outside,  I never  saw  a prettier  rural  scene 
than  was  presented  by  this  range  of  contiguous  huts. 
For  in  front  of  the  whole  row  was  a luxuriant  and  well- 
trimmed  hawthorn  hedge,  and  belonging  to  each  cot- 
tage was  a little  square  of  garden-ground,  separated 
from  its  neighbors  by  a line  of  the  same  verdant  fence. 
The  gardens  were  chockfull,  not  of  esculent  vegeta- 
bles, but  of  flowers,  familiar  ones,  but  very  bright-col- 
ored, and  shrubs  of  box,  some  of  which  were  trimmed 
into  artistic  shapes ; and  I remember,  before  one  door, 
a representation  of  Warwick  Castle,  made  of  oyster- 
shells.  The  cottagers  evidently  loved  the  little  nests 
in  which  they  dwelt,  and  did  their  best  to  make  them 
beautiful,  and  succeeded  more  than  tolerably  well,  — 
so  kindly  did  nature  help  their  humble  efforts  with  its 
verdure,  flowers,  moss,  lichens,  and  the  green  things 
that  grew  out  of  the  thatch.  Through  some  of  the 
open  doorways  we  saw  plump  children  rolling  about 
on  the  stone  floors,  and  their  mothers,  by  no  means 
very  pretty,  but  as  happy-looking  as  mothers  generally 
are  ; and  while  we  gazed  at  these  domestic  matters  an 
old  woman  rushed  wildly  out  of  one  of  the  gates,  up- 
holding a shovel,  on  which  she  clanged  and  clattered 
with  a key.  At  first  we  fancied  that  she  intended  an 
onslaught  against  ourselves,  but  soon  discovered  that 
a more  dangerous  enemy  was  abroad ; for  the  old 
lady’s  bees  had  swarmed,  and  the  air  was  full  of  them, 
whizzing  by  our  heads  like  bullets. 

Not  far  from  these  two  rows  of  houses  and  cottages, 
a green  lane,  overshadowed  with  trees,  turned  aside 
from  the  main  road,  and  tended  towards  a square. 


72 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


gray  tower,  the  battlements  of  which  were  just  high 
enough  to  be  visible  above  the  foliage.  Wending  our 
way  thitherward,  we  found  the  very  picture  and  ideal 
of  a country  church  and  churchyard.  The  tower 
seemed  to  be  of  Norman  architecture,  low,  massive, 
and  crowned  with  battlements.  The  body  of  the 
church  was  of  very  modest  dimensions,  and  the  eaves 
so  low  that  I could  touch  them  with  my  walking-stick. 
We  looked  into  the  windows  and  beheld  the  dim  and 
quiet  interior,  a narrow  space,  but  venerable  with  the 
consecration  of  many  centuries,  and  keeping  its  sanc- 
tity as  entire  and  inviolate  as  that  of  a vast  cathedral. 
The  nave  was  divided  from  the  side  aisles  of  the 
church  by  pointed  arches  resting  on  very  sturdy  pil- 
lars : it  was  good  to  see  how  solemnly  they  held  them- 
selves to  their  age-long  task  of  supporting  that  lowly 
roof.  There  was  a small  organ,  suited  in  size  to  the 
vaulted  hollow,  which  it  weekly  filled  with  religious 
sound.  On  the  opposite  wall  of  the  church,  between 
two  windows,  was  a mural  tablet  of  white  marble,  with 
an  inscription  in  black  letters,  — the  only  such  me- 
morial that  I could  discern,  although  many  dead  peo- 
ple doubtless  lay  beneath  the  floor,  and  had  paved  it 
with  their  ancient  tombstones,  as  is  customary  in  old 
English  churches.  There  were  no  modern  painted  win- 
dows, flaring  with  raw  colors,  nor  other  gorgeous  adorn- 
ments, such  as  the  present  taste  for  mediaeval  restora- 
tion often  patches  upon  the  decorous  simplicity  of  the 
gray  village-church.  It  is  probably  the  worshipping- 
place  of  no  more  distinguished  a congregation  than  the 
farmers  and  peasantry  who  inhabit  the  houses  and  cot- 
tages which  I have  just  described.  Had  the  lord  of 
the  manor  been  one  of  the  parishioners,  there  would 
have  been  an  eminent  pew  near  the  chancel,  walled 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


73 


high  about,  curtained,  and  softly  cushioned,  warmed 
by  a fireplace  of  its  own,  and  distinguished  by  hered- 
itary tablets  and  escutcheons  on  the  enclosed  stone 
pillar. 

A well-trodden  path  led  across  the  churchyard,  and 
the  gate  being  on  the  latch,  we  entered,  and  walked 
round  among  the  graves  and  monuments.  The  latter 
were  chiefiy  head-stones,  none  of  which  were  very  old, 
so  far  as  was  discoverable  by  the  dates  ; some,  indeed, 
in  so  ancient  a cemetery,  were  disagreeably  new,  with 
inscriptions  glittering  like  sunshine  in  gold  letters. 
The  ground  must  have  been  dug  over  and  over  again, 
innumerable  times,  until  the  soil  is  made  up  of  what 
was  once  human  clay,  out  of  which  have  sprung  suc- 
cessive crops  of  gravestones,  that  flourish  their  allotted 
time,  and  disappear,  like  the  weeds  and  flowers  in  their 
briefer  period.  The  English  climate  is  very  unfavor- 
able to  the  endurance  of  memorials  in  the  open  air. 
Twenty  years  of  it  suffice  to  give  as  much  antiquity  of 
aspect,  whether  to  tombstone  or  edifice,  as  a hundred 
years  of  our  own  drier  atmosphere,  — so  soon  do  the 
drizzly  rains  and  constant  moisture  corrode  the  sur- 
face of  marble  or  freestone.  Sculptured  edges  lose 
their  sharpness  in  a year  or  two ; yellow  lichens  over- 
spread a beloved  name,  and  obliterate  it  while  it  is 
yet  fresh  upon  some  survivor’s  heart.  Time  gnaws  an 
English  gravestone  with  wonderful  appetite  ; and  when 
the  inscription  is  quite  illegible,  the  sexton  takes  the 
useless  slab  away,  and  perhaps  makes  a hearthstone  of 
it,  and  digs  up  the  unripe  bones  which  it  ineffectually 
tried  to  memorialize,  and  gives  the  bed  to  another 
sleeper.  In  the  Charter  Street  burial  - ground  at 
Salem,  and  in  the  old  graveyard  on  the  hill  at  Ips- 
wich, I have  seen  more  ancient  gravestones,  with  legi- 


74 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


ble  inscriptions  on  them,  than  in  any  English  church- 
yard. 

And  yet  this  same  ungenial  climate,  hostile  as  it 
generally  is  to  the  long  remembrance  of  departed  peo- 
ple, has  sometimes  a lovely  way  of  dealing  with  the 
records  on  certain  monuments  that  lie  horizontally  in 
the  open  air.  The  rain  falls  into  the  deep  incisions  of 
the  letters,  and  has  scarcely  time  to  be  dried  away  be- 
fore another  shower  sprinkles  the  flat  stone  again,  and 
replenishes  those  little  reservoirs.  The  unseen,  myste- 
rious seeds  of  mosses  find  their  way  into  the  lettered 
furrows,  and  are  made  to  germinate  by  the  continual 
moisture  and  watery  sunshine  of  the  English  sky ; and 
by  and  by,  in  a year,  or  two  years,  or  many  years,  be- 
hold the  complete  inscription  — 

ILgetf)  tfje  jBolig, 

and  all  the  rest  of  the  tender  falsehood — beautifully 
embossed  in  raised  letters  of  living  green,  a bas-relief 
of  velvet  moss  on  the  marble  slab  ! It  becomes  more 
legible,  under  the  skyey  influences,  after  the  world  has 
forgotten  the  deceased,  than  when  it  was  fresh  from 
the  stone-cutter’s  hands.  It  outlives  the  grief  of 
friends.  I first  saw  an  example  of  this  in  Bebbington 
churchyard,  in  Cheshire,  and  thought,  that  Nature 
must  needs  have  had  a special  tenderness  for  the  per- 
son (no  noted  man,  however,  in  the  world’s  history) 
so  long  ago  laid  beneath  that  stone,  since  she  took 
such  wonderful  pains  to  keep  his  memory  green.” 
Perhaps  the  proverbial  phrase  just  quoted  may  have 
had  its  origin  in  the  natural  phenomenon  here  de- 
scribed. 

While  we  rested  ourselves  on  a horizontal  monu- 
ment, which  was  elevated  just  high  enough  to  be  a 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


75 


convenient  seat,  I observed  that  one  of  the  grave- 
stones lay  very  close  to  the  church,  — so  close  that 
the  droppings  of  the  eaves  would  fall  upon  it.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  inmate  of  that  grave  had  desired  to 
creep  under  the  church-wall.  On  closer  inspection,  we 
found  an  almost  illegible  epitaph  on  the  stone,  and 
with  difficulty  made  out  this  forlorn  verse : — 

**  Poorly  lived, 

And  poorly  died, 

Poorly  buried. 

And  no  one  cried.’' 

It  would  be  hard  to  compress  the  story  of  a cold  and 
luckless  life,  death,  and  burial  into  fewer  words,  or 
more  impressive  ones  ; at  least,  we  found  them  im- 
pressive, perhaps  because  we  had  to  re-create  the  in- 
scription by  scraping  away  the  lichens  from  the  faintly 
traced  letters.  The  grave  was  on  the  shady  and  damp 
side  of  the  church,  endwise  towards  it,  the  head-stone 
being  within  about  three  feet  of  the  foundation-wall ; 
so  that,  unless  the  poor  man  was  a dwarf,  he  must 
have  been  doubled  up  to  fit  him  into  his  final  resting- 
place.  No  wonder  that  his  epitaph  murmured  against 
so  poor  a burial  as  this  ! His  name,  as  well  as  I could 
make  it  out,  was  Treeo,  — John  Treeo,  I think,  — and 
he  died  in  1810,  at  the  age  of  seventy-four.  The 
gravestone  is  so  overgrown  with  grass  and  weeds,  so 
covered  with  unsightly  lichens,  and  so  crumbly  with 
time  and  foul  weather,  that  it  is  questionable  whether 
anybody  will  ever  be  at  the  trouble  of  deciphering  it 
again.  But  there  is  a quaint  and  sad  kind  of  enjoy- 
ment in  defeating  (to  such  slight  degree  as  my  pen 
may  do  it)  the  probabilities  of  oblivion  for  poor  John 
Treeo,  and  asking  a little  sympathy  for  him,  half  a 
century  after  his  death,  and  making  him  better  and 


76 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


more  widely  known,  at  least,  than  any  other  slum- 
berer  in  Lillington  churchyard : he  having  been,  as 
appearances  go,  the  outcast  of  them  all. 

You  find  similar  old  churches  and  villages  in  all  the 
neighboring  country,  at  the  distance  of  every  two  or 
three  miles  ; and  I describe  them,  not  as  being  rare, 
but  because  they  are  so  common  and  characteristic. 
The  village  of  Whitnash,  within  twenty  minutes’  walk 
of  Leamington,  looks  as  secluded,  as  rural,  and  as  lit- 
tle disturbed  by  the  fashions  of  to-day,  as  if  Dr.  Jeph- 
son  had  never  developed  all  those  Parades  and  Cres- 
cents out  of  his  magic  well.  I used  to  wonder  whether 
the  inhabitants  had  ever  yet  heard  of  railways,  or,  at 
their  slow  rate  of  progress,  had  even  reached  the  epoch 
of  stage-coaches.  As  you  approach  the  village,  while 
it  is  yet  unseen,  you  observe  a tall,  overshadowing 
canopy  of  elm-tree  tops,  beneath  which  you  almost 
hesitate  to  follow  the  public  road,  on  account  of  the 
remoteness  that  seems  to  exist  between  the  precincts 
of  this  old-world  community  and  the  thronged  modern 
street  out  of  which  you  have  so  recently  emerged. 
Venturing  onward,  however,  you  soon  find  yourself 
in  the  heart  of  Whitnash,  and  see  an  irregular  ring  of 
ancient  rustic  dwellings  surrounding  the  village-green, 
on  one  side  of  which  stands  the  church,  with  its  square 
Norman  tower  and  battlements,  while  close  adjoining 
is  the  vicarage,  made  picturesque  by  peaks  and  gableso 
At  first  glimpse,  none  of  the  houses  appear  to  be  less 
than  two  or  three  centuries  old,  and  they  are  of  the 
ancient,  wooden-framed  fashion,  with  thatched  roofs, 
which  give  them  the  air  of  birds’  nests,  thereby  assim- 
ilating them  closely  to  the  simplicity  of  nature. 

The  church-tower  is  mossy  and  much  gnawed  by 
time ; it  has  narrow  loopholes  up  and  down  its  front 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


77 


and  sides,  and  an  arched  window  over  the  low  portal, 
set  with  small  panes  of  glass,  cracked,  dim,  and  irregu- 
lar, through  which  a by-gone  age  is  peeping  out  into  the 
day-light.  Some  of  those  old,  grotesque  faces,"called 
gargoyles,  are  seen  on  the  projections  of  the  architect^ 
ure.  The  churchyard  is  very  small,  and  is  encom- 
passed by  a gray  stone  fence  that  looks  as  ancient  as 
the  church  itself.  In  front  of  the  tower,  on  the  village^ 
green,  is  a yew-tree  of  incalculable  age,  with  a vast  cir- 
cumference of  trunk,  but  a very  scanty  head  of  foli- 
age ; though  its  boughs  still  keep  some  of  the  vitality 
which,  perhaps,  was  in  its  early  prime  when  the  Saxon 
invaders  founded  Whitnash.  A thousand  years  is  no 
extraordinary  antiquity  in  the  lifetime  of  a yew.  W e 
were  pleasantly  startled,  however,  by  discovering  an 
exuberance  of  more  youthful  life  than  we  had  thought 
possible  in  so  old  a tree ; for  the  faces  of  two  children 
laughed  at  us  out  of  an  opening  in  the  trunk,  which 
had  become  hollow  with  long  decay.  On  one  side  of 
the  yew  stood  a framework  of  worm-eaten  timber,  the 
use  and  meaning  of  which  puzzled  me  exceedingly,  till 
I made  it  out  to  be  the  village-stocks  ; a public  institu- 
tion that,  in  its  day,  had  doubtless  hampered  many  a 
pair  of  shank-bones,  now  crumbling  in  the  adjacent 
churchyard.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that 
this  old-fashioned  mode  of  punishment  is  still  in  vogue 
among  the  good  people  of  Whitnash.  The  vicar  of 
the  parish  has  antiquarian  propensities,  and  had  prob- 
ably dragged  the  stocks  out  of  some  dusty  hiding- 
place  and  set  them  up  on  the  former  site  as  a curi- 
osity. 

I disquiet  myself  in  vain  with  the  effort  to  hit  upon 
some  characteristic  feature,  or  assemblage  of  features, 
that  shall  convey  to  the  reader  the  influence  of  hoar 


78 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


antiquity  lingering  into  the  present  daylight,  as  I so 
. often  felt  it  in  these  old  English  scenes.  It  is  only 
an  American  who  can  feel  it ; and  even  he  begins  to 
find  himself  growing  insensible  to  its  effect,  after  a 
long  residence  in  England.  But  while  you  are  still 
new  in  the  old  country,  it  thrills  you  with  strange 
emotion  to  think  that  this  little  church  of  Whitnash, 
humble  as  it  seems,  stood  for  ages  under  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  has  not  materially  changed  since  Wick- 
liffe’s  days,  and  that  it  looked  as  gray  as  now  in 
Bloody  Mary’s  time,  and  that  Cromwell’s  troopers 
broke  off  the  stone  noses  of  those  same  gargoyles  that 
are  now  grinning  in  your  face.  So,  too,  with  the  im- 
memorial yew-tree  ; you  see  its  great  roots  grasping 
hold  of  the  earth  like  gigantic  claws,  clinging  so  stur- 
dily that  no  effort  of  time  can  wrench  them  away  ; and 
there  being  life  in  the  old  tree,  you  feel  all  the  more 
as  if  a contemporary  witness  were  telling  you  of  the 
things  that  have  been.  It  has  lived  among  men,  and 
been  a familiar  object  to  them,  and  seen  them  brought 
to  be  christened  and  married  and  buried  in  the  neigh- 
boring church  and  churchyard,  through  so  many  cen- 
turies, that  it  knows  all  about  our  race,  so  far  as  fifty 
generations  of  the  Whitnash  people  can  supply  such 
knowledge. 

And,  after  all,  what  a weary  life  it  must  have  been 
for  the  old  tree  ! Tedious  beyond  imagination  ! Such, 
I think,  is  the  final  impression  on  the  mind  of  an 
American  visitor,  when  his  delight  at  finding  some- 
thing permanent  begins  to  yield  to  his  Western  love 
of  change,  and  he  becomes  sensible  of  the  heavy  air 
of  a spot  where  the  forefathers  and  foremothers  have 
grown  up  together,  intermarried,  and  died,  through  a 
long  succession  of  lives,  without  any  intermixture  of 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


79 


new  elements,  till  family  features  and  character  are  all 
run  in  the  same  inevitable  mould.  Life  is  there  fos- 
silized in  its  greenest  leaf.  The  man  who  died  yester- 
day or  ever  so  long  ago  walks  the  village-street  to-day, 
and  chooses  the  same  wife  that  he  married  a hundred 
years  since,  and  must  be  buried  again  to-morrow  under 
the  same  kindred  dust  that  has  already  covered  him 
half  a score  of  times.  The  stone  threshold  of  his  cot- 
tage is  worn  away  with  his  hobnailed  footsteps,  shuf- 
fling over  it  from  the  reign  of  the  first  Plantagenet  to 
that  of  Victoria.  Better  than  this  is  the  lot  of  our 
restless  countrymen,  whose  modern  instinct  bids  them 
tend  always  towards  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new.” 
Rather  than  such  monotony  of  sluggish  ages,  loitering 
on  a village-green,  toiling  in  hereditary  fields,  listen- 
ing to  the  parson’s  drone  lengthened  through  centuries 
in  the  gray  Norman  church,  let  us  welcome  whatever 
change  may  come,  — change  of  place,  social  customs, 
political  institutions,  modes  of  worship,  — trusting 
that,  if  all  present  things  shall  vanish,  they  will  but 
make  room  for  better  systems,  and  for  a higher  type 
of  man  to  clothe  his  life  in  them,  and  to  fling  them 
off  in  turn. 

Nevertheless,  while  an  American  willingly  accepts 
growth  and  change  as  the  law  of  his  own  national  and 
private  existence,  he  has  a singular  tenderness  for  the 
stone-incrusted  institutions  of  the  mother-country.  The 
reason  may  be  (though  I should  prefer  a more  gener- 
ous explanation)  that  he  recognizes  the  tendency  of 
these  hardened  forms  to  stiffen  her  joints  and  fetter 
her  ankles,  in  the  race  and  rivalry  of  improvement, 

I hated  to  see  so  much  as  a twig  of  ivy  wrenched  away 
from  an  old  wall  in  England.  Yet  change  is  at  work, 
even  in  such  a village  as  Whitnash.  At  a subsequent 


80 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


visit,  looking  more  critically  at  the  irregular  circle  of 
dwellings  that  surround  the  yew-tree  and  confront  the 
church,  I perceived  that  some  of  the  houses  must  have 
been  built  within  no  long  time,  although  the  thatch, 
the  quaint  gables,  and  the  old  oaken  framework  of  the 
others  diffused  an  air  of  antiquity  over  the  whole  as- 
semblage. The  church  itself  was  undergoing  repair 
and  restoration,  which  is  but  another  name  for  change. 
Masons  were  making  patch- work  on  the  front  of  the 
tower,  and  were  sawing  a slab  of  stone  and  piling  up 
bricks  to  strengthen  the  side-wall,  or  possibly  to  en- 
large the  ancient  edifice  by  an  additional  aisle.  More- 
over, they  had  dug  an  immense  pit  in  the  churchyard, 
long  and  broad,  and  fifteen  feet  deep,  two  thirds  of 
which  profundity  were  discolored  by  human  decay, 
and  mixed  up  with  crumbly  bones.  What  this  exca- 
vation was  intended  for  I could  nowise  imagine,  unless 
it  were  the  very  pit  in  which  Longfellow  bids  the 

Dead  Past  bury  its  dead,”  and  Whitnash,  of  all 
places  in  the  world,  were  going  to  avail  itself  of  our 
poet’s  suggestion.  If  so,  it  must  needs  be  confessed 
that  many  picturesque  and  delightful  things  would  be 
thrown  into  the  hole,  and  covered  out  of  sight  forever. 

The  article  which  I am  writing  has  taken  its  own 
course,  and  occupied  itself  almost  wholly  with  country 
churches;  whereas  I had  purposed  to  attempt  a de- 
scription of  some  of  the  many  old  towns  — W arwick, 
Coventry,  Kenilworth,  Stratford  - on  - Avon  — which 
lie  within  an  easy  scope  of  Leamington.  And  still  an- 
other church  presents  itself  to  my  remembrance.  It 
is  that  of  Hatton,  on  which  I stumbled  in  the  course 
of  a forenoon’s  ramble,  and  paused  a little  while  to 
look  at  it  for  the  sake  of  old  Dr.  Parr,  who  was  once 
its  vicar.  Hatton,  so  far  as  I could  discover,  has  no 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


81 


public-house,  no  shop,  no  contiguity  of  roofs  (as  in 
most  English  villages,  however  small),  but  is  merely 
an  ancient  neighborhood  of  farm-houses,  spacious,  and 
standing  wide  apart,  each  within  its  own  precincts,  and 
offering  a most  comfortable  aspect  of  orchards,  harvest- 
fields,  barns,  stacks,  and  all  manner  of  rural  plenty. 
It  seemed  to  be  a community  of  old  settlers,  among 
whom  everything  had  been  going  on  prosperously  since 
an  epoch  beyond  the  memory  of  man ; and  they  kept 
a certain  privacy  among  themselves,  and  dwelt  on  a 
cross-road,  at  the  entrance  of  which  was  a barred  gate, 
hospitably  open,  but  still  impressing  me  with  a sense 
of  scarcely  warrantable  intrusion.  After  all,  in  some 
shady  nook  of  those  gentfe  W arwickshire  slopes,  there 
may  have  been  a denser  and  more  populous  settlement 
styled  Hatton,  which  I never  reached. 

Emerging  from  the  by-road,  and  entering  upon  one 
that  crossed  it  at  right  angles  and  led  to  Warwick,  I 
espied  the  church  of  Dr.  Parr.  Like  the  others  which 
I have  described,  it  had  a low  stone  tower,  square, 
and  battlemented  at  its  summit : for  all  these  little 
churches  seem  to  have  been  built  on  the  same  model, 
and  nearly  at  the  same  measurement,  and  have  even  a 
greater  family-likeness  than  the  cathedrals.  As  I ap- 
proached, the  bell  of  the  tower  (a  remarkably  deep- 
toned  bell,  considering  how  small  it  was)  flung  its 
voice  abroad,  and  told  me  that  it  was  noon.  The 
church  stands  among  its  graves,  a little  removed  from 
the  wayside,  quite  apart  from  any  collection  of  houses, 
and  with  no  signs  of  a vicarage  ; it  is  a good  deal 
shadowed  by  trees,  and  not  wholly  destitute  of  ivy. 
The  body  of  the  edifice,  unfortunately  (and  it  is  an 
outrage  which  the  English  churchwardens  are  fond  of 
perpetrating),  has  been  newly  covered  with  a yellowish 

VOL.  VII.  6 


82 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


plaster  or  wash,  so  as  quite  to  destroy  the  aspect  of 
antiquity,  except  upon  the  tower,  which  wears  the  dark 
gray  hue  of  many  centuries.  The  chancel-window  is 
painted  with  a representation  of  Christ  upon  the  Cross, 
and  all  the  other  windows  are  full  of  painted  or  stained 
glass,  but  none  of  it  ancient,  nor  (if  it  be  fair  to  judge 
from  without  of  what  ought  to  be  seen  within)  pos- 
sessing any  of  the  tender  glory  that  should  be  the  in- 
heritance of  this  branch  of  Art,  revived  from  mediaeval 
times.  I stepped  over  the  graves,  and  peeped  in  at 
two  or  three  of  the  windows,  and  saw  the  snug  interior 
of  the  church  glimmering  through  the  many-colored 
panes,  like  a show  of  commonplace  objects  under  the 
fantastic  influence  of  a dream : for  the  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  modern  pews,  very  like  what  we  may  see  in 
a New  England  meeting-house,  though,  I think,  a lit- 
tle more  favorable  than  those  would  be  to  the  quiet 
slumbers  of  the  Hatton  farmers  and  their  families. 
Those  who  slept  under  Dr.  Parr’s  preaching  now  pro- 
long their  nap,  I suppose,  in  the  churchyard  round 
about,  and  can  scarcely  have  drawn  much  spiritual 
benefit  from  any  truths  that  he  contrived  to  tell  them 
in  their  lifetime.  It  struck  me  as  a rare  example 
(even  where  examples  are  numerous)  of  a man  utterly 
misplaced,  that  this  enormous  scholar,  great  in  the 
classic  tongues,  and  inevitably  converting  his  own 
simplest  vernacular  into  a learned  language,  should 
have  been  set  up  in  this  homely  pulpit,  and  ordained 
to  preach  salvation  to  a rustic  audience,  to  whom  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  how  he  could  ever  have  spoken  one 
available  word. 

Almost  always,  in  visiting  such  scenes  as  I have 
been  attempting  to  describe,  I had  a singular  sense  of 
having  been  there  before.  The  ivy-grown  English 


LEAMINGTON  SPA. 


83 


churches  (even  that  of  Bebbington,  the  first  that  I 
beheld)  were  quite  as  familiar  to  me,  when  fresh  from 
home,  as  the  old  wooden  meeting-house  in  Salem, 
which  used,  on  wintry  Sabbaths,  to  be  the  frozen  pur- 
gatory of  my  childhood.  This  was  a bewildering,  yet 
very  delightful  emotion  fluttering  about  me  like  a 
faint  summer  wind,  and  filling  my  imagination  with  a 
thousand  half-remembrances,  which  looked  as  vivid  as 
sunshine  at  a side-glance,  but  faded  quite  away  when- 
ever I attempted  to  grasp  and  define  them.  Of  course, 
the  explanation  of  the  mystery  was,  that  history,  poe- 
try, and  fiction,  books  of  travel,  and  the  talk  of  tour- 
ists, had  given  me  pretty  accurate  preconceptions  of 
the  common  objects  of  English  scenery,  and  these,  be- 
ing long  ago  vivified  by  a youthful  fancy,  had  insen- 
sibly taken  their  places  among  the  images  of  things 
actually  seen.  Yet  the  illusion  was  often  so  powerful, 
that  I almost  doubted  whether  such  airy  remembrances 
might  not  be  a sort  of  innate  idea,  the  print  of  a rec- 
ollection in  some  ancestral  mind,  transmitted,  with 
fainter  and  fainter  impress  through  several  descents, 
to  my  own.  I felt,  indeed,  like  the  stalwart  progeni- 
tor in  person,  returning  to  the  hereditary  haunts  after 
more  than  two  hundred  years,  and  finding  the  church, 
the  hall,  the  farm-house,  the  cottage,  hardly  changed 
during  his  long  absence,  — the  same  shady  by-paths 
and  hedge-lanes,  the  same  veiled  sky,  and  green  lustre 
of  the  lawns  and  fields,  — while  his  own  affinities  for 
these  things,  a little  obscured  by  disuse,  were  reviving 
at  every  step. 

An  American  is  not  very  apt  to  love  the  English 
people,  as  a whole,  on  whatever  length  of  acquain- 
tance. I fancy  that  they  would  value  our  regard,  and 
even  reciprocate  it  in  their  ungracious  way,  if  we  could 


84 


LEAMINGTON  SPA, 


give  it  to  them  in  spite  of  all  rebuffs ; but  they  are 
beset  by  a curious  and  inevitable  infelicity,  which 
compels  them,  as  it  were,  to  keep  up  what  they  seem 
to  consider  a wholesome  bitterness  of  feeling  between 
themselves  and  all  other  nationalities,  especially  that 
of  America.  They  will  never  confess  it ; nevertheless, 
it  is  as  essential  a tonic  to  them  as  their  bitter  ale. 
Therefore,  — and  possibly,  too,  from  a similar  narrow- 
ness in  his  own  character,  — an  American  seldom 
feels  quite  as  if  he  were  at  home  among  the  English 
people.  If  he  do  so,  he  has  ceased  to  be  an  American. 
But  it  requires  no  long  residence  to  make  him  love 
their  island,  and  appreciate  it  as  thoroughly  as  they 
themselves  do.  For  my  part,  I used  to  wish  that  we 
could  annex  it,  transferring  their  thirty  millions  of  in- 
habitants to  some  convenient  wilderness  in  the  great 
West,  and  putting  half  or  a quarter  as  many  of  our- 
selves into  their  places.  The  change  would  be  bene- 
ficial to  both  parties.  We,  in  our  dry  atmosphere, 
are  getting  too  nervous,  haggard,  dyspeptic,  extenu- 
ated, unsubstantial,  theoretic,  and  need  to  be  made 
grosser.  John  Bull,  on  the  other  hand,  has  grown 
bulbous,  long-bodied,  short-legged,  heavy-witted,  ma- 
terial, and,  in  a word,  too  intensely  English.  In  a few 
more  centuries  he  will  be  the  earthliest  creature  that 
ever  the  earth  saw.  Heretofore  Providence  has  ob- 
viated such  a result  by  timely  intermixtures  of  alien 
races  with  the  old  English  stock ; so  that  each  succes- 
sive conquest  of  England  has  proved  a victory  by  the 
revivification  and  improvement  of  its  native  manhood. 
Cannot  America  and  England  hit  upon  some  scheme 
to  secure  even  greater  advantages  to  both  nations  ? 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


Between  bright,  new  Leamington,  the  growth  of 
the  present  century,  and  rusty  Warwick,  founded  by 
King  Cymbeline  in  the  twilight  ages,  a thousand  years 
before  the  mediaeval  darkness,  there  are  two  roads, 
either  of  which  may  be  measured  by  a sober-paced  pe- 
destrian in  less  than  half  an  hour. 

One  of  these  avenues  flows  out  of  the  midst  of  the 
smart  parades  and  crescents  of  the  former  town,  — 
along  by  hedges  and  beneath  the  shadow  of  great  elms, 
past  stuccoed  Elizabethan  villas  and  wayside  alehouses, 
and  through  a hamlet  of  modern  aspect,  — and  runs 
straight  into  the  principal  thoroughfare  of  Warwick. 
The  battlemented  turrets  of  the  castle,  embowered 
half-way  up  in  foliage,  and  the  tall,  slender  tower  of 
St.  Mary’s  Church,  rising  from  among  clustered  roofs, 
have  been  visible  almost  from  the  commencement  of 
the  walk.  Near  the  entrance  of  the  town  stands  St. 
John’s  School-House,  a picturesque  old  edifice  of  stone, 
with  four  peaked  gables  in  a row,  alternately  plain 
and  ornamented,  and  wide,  projecting  windows,  and  a 
spacious  and  venerable  porch,  all  overgrown  with  moss 
and  ivy,  and  shut  in  from  the  world  by  a high  stone 
fence,  not  less  mossy  than  the  gabled  front.  There  is 
an  iron  gate,  through  the  rusty  open-work  of  which 
you  see  a grassy  lawn,  and  almost  expect  to  meet  the 
shy,  curious  eyes  of  the  little  boys  of  past  generations, 
peeping  forth  from  their  infantile  antiquity  into  the 
strangeness  of  our  present  life.  I find  a peculiar 


86 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


charm  in  these  long-established  English  schools,  where 
the  school-boy  of  to-day  sits  side  by  side,  as  it  were, 
with  his  great-grandsire,  on  the  same  old  benches,  and 
often,  I believe,  thumbs  a later,  but  unimproved  edi- 
tion of  the  same  old  grammar  or  arithmetic.  The 
new-fangled  notions  of  a Yankee  school  - committee 
would  madden  many  a pedagogue,  and  shake  down 
the  roof  of  many  a time-honored  seat  of  learning,  in 
the  mother-country. 

At  this  point,  however,  we  will  turn  back,  in  order 
to  follow  up  the  other  road  from  Leamington,  which 
was  the  one  that  I loved  best  to  take.  It  pursues  a 
straight  and  level  course,  bordered  by  wide  gravel- 
walks  and  overhung  by  the  frequent  elm,  with  here  a 
cottage  and  there  a villa ; on  one  side  a wooden  plan- 
tation, and  on  the  other  a rich  field  of  grass  or  grain ; 
until,  turning  at  right  angles,  it  brings  you  to  an 
arched  bridge  over  the  Avon.  Its  parapet  is  a balus- 
trade carved  out  of  freestone,  into  the  soft  substance 
of  which  a multitude  of  persons  have  engraved  their 
names  or  initials,  many  of  them  now  illegible,  while 
others,  more  deeply  cut,  are  illuminated  with  fresh 
green  moss.  These  tokens  indicate  a famous  spot ; 
and  casting  our  eyes  along  the  smooth  gleam  and 
shadow  of  the  quiet  stream,  through  a vista  of  willows 
that  droop  on  either  side  into  the  water,  we  behold  the 
gray  magnificence  of  W arwick  Castle,  uplifting  itself 
among  stately  trees,  and  rearing  its  turrets  high  above 
their  loftiest  branches.  We  can  scarcely  think  the 
scene  real,  so  completely  do  those  machicolated  towers, 
the  long  line  of  battlements,  the  massive  buttresses, 
the  high-windowed  walls,  shape  out  our  indistinct  ideas 
of  the  antique  time.  It  might  rather  seem  as  if  the 
sleepy  river  (being  Shakespeare’s  Avon,  and  often,  no 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


87 


doubt,  the  mirror  of  his  gorgeous  visions)  were  dream- 
ing now  of  a lordly  residence  that  stood  here  many 
centuries  ago  ; and  this  fantasy  is  strengthened,  when 
you  observe  that  the  image  in  the  tranquil  water  has 
all  the  distinctness  of  the  actual  structure.  Either 
might  be  the  reflection  of  the  other.  Wherever  Time 
has  gnawed  one  of  the  stones,  you  see  the  mark  of  his 
tooth  just  as  plainly  in  the  sunken  reflection.  Each 
is  so  perfect,  that  the  upper  vision  seems  a castle  in 
the  air,  and  the  lower  one  an  old  stronghold  of  feu- 
dalism, miraculously  kept  from  decay  in  an  enchanted 
river. 

A ruinous  and  ivy-grown  bridge,  that  projects  from 
the  bank  a little  on  the  hither  side  of  the  castle,  has 
the  effect  of  making  the  scene  appear  more  entirely 
apart  from  the  every-day  world,  for  it  ends  abruptly  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  — so  that,  if  a cavalcade  of 
the  knights  and  ladies  of  romance  should  issue  from 
the  old  walls,  they  could  never  tread  on  earthly  ground 
any  more  than  we,  approaching  from  the  side  of  mod- 
ern realism,  can  overleap  the  gulf  between  our  domain 
and  theirs.  Yet,  if  we  seek  to  disenchant  ourselves, 
it  may  readily  be  done.  Crossing  the  bridge  on  which 
we  stand,  and  passing  a little  farther  on,  we  come  to 
the  entrance  of  the  castle,  abutting  on  the  highway, 
and  hospitably  open  at  certain  hours  to  all  curious  pil- 
grims who  choose  to  disburse  half  a crown  or  so  to- 
ward the  support  of  the  earl’s  domestics.  The  sight 
of  that  long  series  of  historic  rooms,  full  of  such  splen- 
dors and  rarities  as  a great  English  family  necessarily 
gathers  about  itself  in  its  hereditary  abode,  and  in  the 
lapse  of  ages,  is  well  worth  the  money,  or  ten  times  as 
much,  if  indeed  the  value  of  the  spectacle  could  be 
reckoned  in  money’s-worth.  But  after  the  attendant 


88 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


has  hurried  you  from  end  to  end  of  the  edifice,  repeat- 
ing a guide-book  by  rote,  and  exorcising  each  succes- 
sive hall  of  its  poetic  glamour  and  witchcraft  by  the 
mere  tone  in  which  he  talks  about  it,  you  will  make 
the  doleful  discovery  that  Warwick  Castle  has  ceased 
to  be  a dream.  It  is  better,  methinks,  to  linger  on 
the  bridge,  gazing  at  Caesar’s  Tower  and  Guy’s  Tower, 
in  the  dim  English  sunshine  above,  and  in  the  placid 
Avon  below,  and  still  keep  them  as  thoughts  in  your 
own  mind,  than  climb  to  their  summits,  or  touch  even 
a stone  of  their  actual  substance.  They  will  have  all 
the  more  reality  for  you,  as  stalwart  relics  of  imme- 
morial time,  if  you  are  reverent  enough  to  leave  them 
in  the  intangible  sanctity  of  a poetic  vision. 

From  the  bridge  over  the  Avon,  the  road  passes  in 
front  of  the  castle-gate,  and  soon  enters  the  principal 
street  of  W arwick,  a little  beyond  St.  J ohn’s  School- 
House,  already  described.  Chester  itself,  most  antique 
of  English  towns,  can  hardly  show  quainter  architec- 
tural shapes  than  many  of  the  buildings  that  border 
this  street.  They  are  mostly  of  the  timber-and-plaster 
kind,  with  bowed  and  decrepit  ridge-poles,  and  a whole 
chronology  of  various  patchwork  in  their  walls  ; their 
low-browed  doorways  open  upon  a sunken  floor  ; their 
projecting  stories  peep,  as  it  were,  over  one  another’s 
shoulders,  and  rise  into  a multiplicity  of  peaked  ga- 
bles ; they  have  curious  windows,  breaking  out  irreg- 
ularly all  over  the  house,  some  even  in  the  roof,  set  in 
their  own  little  peaks,  opening  lattice-wise,  and  fur- 
nished with  twenty  small  panes  of  lozenge-shaped  glass. 
The  architecture  of  these  edifices  (a  visible  oaken 
framework,  showing  the  whole  skeleton  of  the  house, 
— as  if  a man’s  bones  should  be  arranged  on  his  out- 
side, and  his  flesh  seen  through  the  interstices)  is 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


89 


often  imitated  by  modern  builders,  and  with  suffi- 
ciently picturesque  effect.  The  objection  is,  that  such 
houses,  like  all  imitations  of  by-gone  styles,  have  an  air 
of  affectation  ; they  do  not  seem  to  be  built  in  earnest ; 
they  are  no  better  than  playthings,  or  overgrown  baby 
houses,  in  which  nobody  should  be  expected  to  encoun- 
ter the  serious  realities  of  either  birth  or  death.  Be- 
sides, .originating  nothing,  we  leave  no  fashions  for 
another  age  to  copy,  when  we  ourselves  shall  have 
grown  antique. 

Old  as  it  looks,  all  this  portion  of  Warwick  has 
over- brimmed,  as  it  were,  from  the  original  settlement, 
being  outside  of  the  ancient  wall.  The  street  soon 
runs  under  an  arched  gateway,  with  a church  or  some 
other  venerable  structure  above  it,  and  admits  us  into 
the  heart  of  the  town.  At  one  of  my  first  visits,  I 
witnessed  a military  display.  A regiment  of  War- 
wickshire militia,  probably  commanded  by  the  Earl, 
was  going  through  its  drill  in  the  market-place  ; and 
on  the  collar  of  one  of  the  officers  was  embroidered 
the  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff,  which  has  been  the  cogni- 
zance of  the  W arwick  earldom  from  time  immemoriah 
The  soldiers  were  sturdy  young  men,  with  the  simple, 
stolid,  yet  kindly,  faces  of  English  rustics,  looking  ex- 
ceedingly well  in  a body,  but  slouching  into  a yeoman- 
like carriage  and  appearance  the  moment  they  were 
dismissed  from  drill.  Squads  of  them  were  distrib- 
uted everywhere  about  the  streets,  and  sentinels  were 
posted  at  various  points ; and  I saw  a sergeant,  with 
a great  key  in  his  hand  (big  enough  to  have  been  the 
key  of  the  castle’s  main  entrance  when  the  gate  was 
thickest  and  heaviest)  apparently  setting  a guard. 
Thus,  centuries  after  feudal  times  are  past,  we  find 
warriors  still  gathering  under  the  old  castle-walls,  and 


90 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


commanded  by  a feudal  lord,  just  as  in  the  days  of 
the  King-Maker,  who,  no  doubt,  often  mustered  his 
retainers  in  the  same  market-place  where  I beheld  this 
modern  regiment. 

The  interior  of  the  town  wears  a less  old-fashioned 
aspect  than  the  suburbs  through  which  we  approach 
it ; and  the  High  Street  has  shops  with  modern  plate- 
glass,  and  buildings  with  stuccoed  fronts,  exhibiting 
as  few  projections  to  hang  a thought  or  sentiment 
upon  as  if  an  architect  of  to-day  had  planned  them. 
And,  indeed,  so  far  as  their  surface  goes,  they  are 
perhaps  new  enough  to  stand  unabashed  in  an  Ameri- 
can street ; but  behind  these  renovated  faces,  with 
their  monotonous  lack  of  expression,  there  is  probably 
the  substance  of  the  same  old  town  that  wore  a Gothic 
exterior  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  street  is  an  emblem 
of  England  itself.  What  seems  new  in  it  is  chiefly  a 
skilful  and  fortunate  adaptation  of  what  such  a peo- 
ple as  ourselves  would  destroy.  The  new  things  are 
based  and  supported  on  sturdy  old  things,  and  derive 
a massive  strength  from  their  deep  and  immemorial 
foundations,  though  with  such  limitations  and  impedi- 
ments as  only  an  Englishman  could  endure.  But  he 
likes  to  feel  the  weight  of  all  the  past  upon  his  back ; 
and,  moreover,  the  antiquity  that  overburdens  him 
has  taken  root  in  his  being,  and  has  grown  to  be 
rather  a hump  than  a pack,  so  that  there  is  no  getting' 
rid  of  it  without  tearing  his  whole  structure  to  pieces. 
In  my  judgment,  as  he  appears  to  be  sufficiently  com- 
fortable under  the  mouldy  accretion,  he  had  better 
stumble  on  with  it  as  long  as  he  can.  He  presents  a 
spectacle  which  is  by  no  means  without  its  charm  for 
a disinterested  and  unencumbered  observer. 

When  the  old  edifice,  or  the  antiquated  custom  or 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


91 


institution,  appears  in  its  pristine  form,  without  any 
attempt  at  intermarrying  it  with  modern  fashions,  an 
American  cannot  but  admire  the  picturesque  effect 
produced  by  the  sudden  cropping  up  of  an  apparently 
dead-and-burie*d  state  of  society  into  the  actual  pres- 
ent,  of  which  he  is  himself  a part.  We  need  not  go 
far  in  Warwick  without  encountering  an  instance  o£ 
the  kind.  Proceeding  westward  through  the  town,  we 
find  ourselves  confronted  by  a huge  mass  of  natural 
rock,  hewn  into  something  like  architectural  shape, 
and  penetrated  by  a vaulted  passage,  which  may  well 
have  been  one  of  King  Cymbeline’s  original  gate- 
ways ; and  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  over  the  archway, 
sits  a small  old  church,  communicating  with  an  an- 
cient edifice,  or  assemblage  of  edifices,  that  look  down 
from  a similar  elevation  on  the  side  of  the  street.  A 
range  of  trees  half  hides  the  latter  establishment  from 
the  sun.  It  presents  a curious  and  venerable  speci- 
men of  the  timber-and-plaster  style  of  building,  in 
which  some  of  the  finest  old  houses  in  England  are 
constructed : the  front  projects  into  porticos  and  ves- 
tibules, and  rises  into  many  gables,  some  in  a row, 
and  others  crowning  semi-detached  portions  of  the 
structure ; the  windows  mostly  open  on  hinges,  but 
show  a delightful  irregularity  of  shape  and  position  ; a 
multiplicity  of  chimneys  break  through  the  roof  at 
their  own  will,  or,  at  least,  without  any  settled  pur- 
pose of  the  architect.  The  whole  affair  looks  very 
old,  — so  old  indeed  that  the  front  bulges  forth,  as  if 
the  timber  frame-work  were  a little  weary,  at  last,  of 
standing  erect  so  long ; but  the  state  of  repair  is  so 
perfect,  and  there  is  such  an  indescribable  aspect  of 
continuous  vitality  within  the  system  of  this  aged 
house,  that  you  feel  confident  that  there  may  be  safe 


92 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


shelter  yet,  and  perhaps  for  centuries  to  come,  under 
its  time-honored  roof.  And  on  a bench,  sluggishly 
enjoying  the  sunshine,  and  looking  into  the  street  of 
W arwick  as  from  a life  apart,  a few  old  men  are  gen- 
erally to  be  seen,  wrapped  in  long  cloaks,  on  which 
you  may  detect  the  glistening  of  a silver  badge  repre- 
senting the  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff.  These  decorated 
worthies  are  some  of  the  twelve  brethren  of  Leicester’s 
Hospital,  — a community  which  subsists  to-day  under 
the  identical  modes  that  were  established  for  it  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  of  course  retains  many 
features  of  a social  life  that  has  vanished  almost  every- 
where else. 

The  edifice  itself  dates  from  a much  older  period 
than  the  charitable  institution  of  which  it  is  now  the 
home.  It  was  the  seat  of  a religious  fraternity  far 
back  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  continued  so  till  Henry 
VIII.  turned  all  the  priesthood  of  England  out  of 
doors,  and  put  the  most  unscrupulous  of  his  favorites 
into  their  vacant  abodes.  In  many  instances,  the  old 
monks  had  chosen  the  sites  of  their  domiciles  so  well, 
and  built  them  on  such  a broad  system  of  beauty  and 
convenience,  that  their  lay-occupants  found  it  easy  to 
convert  them  into  stately  and  comfortable  homes ; and 
as  such  they  still  exist,  with  something  of  the  antique 
reverence  lingering  about  them.  The  structure  now 
before  us  seems  to  have  been  first  granted  to  Sir 
Nicholas  Lestrange,  who  perhaps  intended,  like  other 
men,  to  establish  his  household  gods  in  the  niches 
whence  he  had  thrown  down  the  images  of  saints,  and 
to  lay  his  hearth  where  an  altar  had  stood.  But  there 
was  probably  a natural  reluctance  in  those  days  (when 
Catholicism,  so  lately  repudiated,  must  needs  have  re- 
tained an  influence  over  all  but  the  most  obdurate 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


93 


characters)  to  bring  one’s  hopes  of  domestic  prosper- 
ity and  a fortunate  lineage  into  direct  hostility  with 
the  awful  claims  of  the  ancient  religion.  At  all  events, 
there  is  still  a superstitious  idea,  betwixt  a fantasy  and 
a belief,  that  the  possession  of  former  Church-property 
has  drawn  a curse  along  with  it,  not  only  among  the 
posterity  of  those  to  whom  it  was  originally  granted, 
but  wherever  it  has  subsequently  been  transferred, 
even  if  honestly  bought  and  paid  for.  There  are  fam- 
ilies, now  inhabiting  some  of  the  beautiful  old  abbeys, 
who  appear  to  indulge  a species  of  pride  in  recording 
the  strange  deaths  and  ugly  shapes  of  misfortune  that 
have  occurred  among  their  predecessors,  and  may  be 
supposed  likely  to  dog  their  own  pathway  down  the 
ages  of  futurity.  Whether  Sir  Nicholas  Lestrange,  in 
the  beef-eating  days  of  Old  Harry  and  Elizabeth,  was 
a nervous  man,  and  subject  to  apprehensions  of  this 
kind,  I cannot  tell ; but  it  is  certain  that  he  speed- 
ily rid  himself  of  the  spoils  of  the  Church,  and  that, 
within  twenty  years  afterwards,  the  edifice  became 
the  property  of  the  famous  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
brother  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  He  devoted  the 
ancient  religious  precinct  to  a charitable  use,  endow- 
ing it  with  an  ample  revenue,  and  making  it  the  per- 
petual home  of  twelve  poor,  honest,  and  war-broken 
soldiers,  mostly  his  own  retainers,  and  natives  either 
of  Warwickshire  or  Gloucestershire.  These  veterans, 
or  others  wonderfully  like  them,  still  occupy  their 
monkish  dormitories,  and  haunt  the  time  - darkened 
corridors  and  galleries  of  the  hospital,  leading  a life 
of  old-fashioned  comfort,  wearing  the  old-fashioned 
cloaks,  and  burnishing  the  identical  silver  badges 
which  the  Earl  of  Leicester  gave  to  the  original  twelve. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  a bad  man  in  his  day ; but  he 


94 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


has  succeeded  in  prolonging  one  good  deed  into  what 
was  to  him  a distant  future. 

On  the  projecting  story,  over  the  arched  entrance, 
there  is  the  date,  1571,  and  several  coats  - of  - arms, 
either  the  Earl’s  or  those  of  his  kindred,  and  imme* 
diately  above  the  doorway  a stone  sculpture  of  the 
Bear  and  Ragged  Staff. 

Passing  through  the  arch,  we  find  ourselves  in  a 
quadrangle,  or  enclosed  court,  such  as  always  formed 
the  central  part  of  a great  family  residence  in  Queen 
Elizabeth’s  time,  and  earlier.  There  can  hardly  be  a 
more  perfect  specimen  of  such  an  establishment  than 
Leicester’s  Hospital.  The  quadrangle  is  a sort  of  sky- 
roofed  hall,  to  which  there  is  convenient  access  from 
all  parts  of  the  house.  The  four  inner  fronts,  with 
their  high,  steep  roofs  and  sharp  gables,  look  into  it 
from  antique  windows,  and  through  open  corridors 
and  galleries  along  the  sides ; and  there  seems  to  be  a 
richer  display  of  architectural  devices  and  ornaments, 
quainter  carvings  in  oak,  and  more  fantastic  shapes 
of  the  timber  framework,  than  on  the  side  toward  the 
street.  On  the  wall  opposite  the  arched  entrance  are 
the  following  inscriptions,  comprising  such  moral 
rules,  I presume,  as  were  deemed  most  essential  for 
the  daily  observance  of  the  community : f^anar  all 
JHen  iFear  (SotJ  ” — “ J^onor  tl)e  Iting — ‘‘  Habe  tlje 
BrotfjerliaotJ  ” ; and  again,  as  if  this  latter  injunction 
needed  emphasis  and  repetition  among  a household  of 
aged  people  soured  with  the  hard  fortune  of  their  pre- 
vious lives,  — Be  femtilg  affectioneti  cine  to  anatj^er.”  One 
sentence,  over  a door  communicating  with  the  Mas- 
ter’s side  of  the  house,  is  addressed  to  that  dignitary, — • 
"'?^e  tfjat  riileti^  ohzx  men  must  be  just.”  All  these  are 
charactered  in  old  English  letters,  and  form  part  ol 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


95 


the  elaborate  ornamentation  of  the  house.  Every* 
where  — on  the  walls,  over  windows  and  doors,  and 
at  all  points  where  there  is  room  to  place  them  — ap- 
pear escutcheons  of  arms,  cognizances,  and  crests,  em- 
blazoned in  their  proper  colors,  and  illuminating  the 
ancient  quadrangle  with  their  splendor.  One  of  these 
devices  is  a large  image  of  a porcupine  on  an  heraldic 
wreath,  being  the  crest  of  the  Lords  de  Lisle.  But  es- 
pecially is  the  cognizance  of  the  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff 
repeated  over  and  over,  and  over  again  and  again,  in 
a great  variety  of  attitudes,  — at  full-length  and  half- 
length,  in  paint  and  in  oaken  sculpture,  in  bas-relief 
and  rounded  image.  The  founder  of  the  hospital  was 
certainly  disposed  to  reckon  his  own  beneficence  as 
among  the  hereditary  glories  of  his  race ; and  had  he 
lived  and  died  a half-century  earlier,  he  would  have 
kept  up  an  old  Catholic  custom,  by  enjoining  the 
twelve  bedesmen  to  pray  for  the  welfare  of  his  soul. 

At  my  first  visit,  some  of  the  brethren  were  seated 
on  the  bench  outside  of  the  edifice,  looking  down  into 
the  street ; but  they  did  not  vouchsafe  me  a word, 
and  seemed  so  estranged  from  modern  life,  so  envel- 
oped in  antique  customs  and  old-fashioned  cloaks, 
that  to  converse  with  them  would  have  been  like  shout- 
ing across  the  gulf  between  our  age  and  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth’s. So  I passed  into  the  quadrangle,  and  found 
it  quite  solitary,  except  that  a plain  and  neat  old 
woman  happened  to  be  crossing  it,  with  an  aspect  of 
business  and  carefulness  that  bespoke  her  a woman  of 
this  world,  and  not  merely  a shadow  of  the  past.  Ask- 
ing her  if  I could  come  in,  she  answered  very  readily 
and  civilly  that  I might,  and  said  that  I was  free  to 
look  about  me,  hinting  a hope,  however,  that  I would 
not  open  the  private  doors  of  the  brotherhood,  as  some 


96 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


visitors  were  in  the  habit  of  doing.  Under  her  guid 
anee,  1 went  into  what  was  formerly  the  great  hall  of 
the  establishment,  where  King  James  1.  had  once  been 
feasted  by  an  Earl  of  Warwick,  as  is  commemorated 
by  an  inscription  on  the  cobwebbed  and  dingy  walk 
It  is  a very  spacious  and  barn-like  apartment,  with  a 
brick  floor,  and  a vaulted  roof,  the  rafters  of  which 
are  oaken  beams,  wonderfully  carved,  but  hardly  visi- 
ble in  the  duskiness  that  broods  aloft.  The  hall  may 
have  made  a splendid  appearance,  when  it  was  deco- 
rated with  rich  tapestry,  and  illuminated  with  chande- 
liers, cressets,  and  torches  glistening  upon  silver  dishes, 
where  King  James  sat  at  supper  among  his  brilliantly 
dressed  nobles ; but  it  has  come  to  base  uses  in  these 
latter  days,  — being  improved,  in  Yankee  phrase,  as  a 
brewery  and  wash-room,  and  as  a cellar  for  the  breth- 
ren’s separate  allotments  of  coal. 

The  old  lady  here  left  me  to  myself,  and  I returned 
into  the  quadrangle.  It  was  very  quiet,  very  hand- 
some, in  its  own  obsolete  style,  and  must  be  an  ex- 
ceedingly comfortable  place  for  the  old  people  to 
lounge  in,  when  the  inclement  winds  render  it  inexpe- 
dient to  walk  abroad.  There  are  shrubs  against  the 
wall,  on  one  side ; and  on  another  is  a cloistered  walk, 
adorned  with  stags’  heads  and  antlers,  and  running 
beneath  a covered  gallery,  up  to  which  ascends  a bal- 
ustraded  staircase.  In  the  portion  of  the  edifice  oppo- 
site the  entrance-arch  are  the  apartments  of  the  Mas* 
ter ; and  looking  into  the  window  (as  the  old  woman, 
at  no  request  of  mine,  had  specially  informed  me  that 
I might),  I saw  a low,  but  vastly  comfortable  parlor, 
very  handsomely  furnished,  and  altogether  a luxuri- 
ous place.  It  had  a fireplace  with  an  immense  arch, 
the  antique  breadth  of  which  extended  almost  from 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


97 


wall  to  wall  o£  the  room,  though  now  fitted  up  in  such 
a way,  that  the  modern  coal-grate  looked  very  dimin- 
utive in  the  midst.  Gazing  into  this  pleasant  interior, 
it  seemed  to  me,  that,  among  these  venerable  sur- 
roundings, availing  himself  of  whatever  was  good  in 
former  things,  and  eking  out  their  imperfection  with 
the  results  of  modern  ingenuity,  the  Master  might 
lead  a not  unenviable  life.  On  the  cloistered  side  of 
the  quadrangle,  where  the  dark  oak  panels  made  the 
enclosed  space  dusky,  I beheld  a curtained  window 
reddened  by  a great  blaze  from  within,  and  heard  the 
bubbling  and  squeaking  of  something  — doubtless 
very  nice  and  succulent  — that  was  being  cooked  at 
the  kitchen-fire.  I think,  indeed,  that  a whiff  or  two 
of  the  savory  fragrance  reached  my  nostrils  ; at  all 
events,  the  impression  grew  upon  me  that  Leicester’s 
Hospital  is  one  of  the  jolliest  old  domiciles  in  England. 

I was  about  to  depart,  when  another  old  woman, 
very  plainly  dressed,  but  fat,  comfortable,  and  with  a 
cheerful  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  came  in  through  the  arch, 
and  looked  curiously  at  me.  This  repeated  apparition 
of  the  gentle  sex  (though  by  no  means  under  its  love- 
liest guise)  had  still  an  agreeable  effect  in  modifying 
my  ideas  of  an  institution  which  I had  supposed  to 
be  of  a stern  and  monastic  character.  She  asked 
whether  I wished  to  see  the  hospital,  and  said  that 
the  porter,  whose  office  it  was  to  attend  to  visitors, 
was  dead,  and  would  be  buried  that  very  day,  so  that 
the  whole  establishment  could  not  conveniently  be 
shown  me.  She  kindly  invited  me,  however,  to  visit 
the  apartment  occupied  by  her  husband  and  herself  ; 
so  I followed  her  up  the  antique  staircase,  along  the 
gallery,  and  into  a small,  oak-panelled  parlor,  where 
sat  an  old  man  in  a long  blue  garment,  who  arose  and 

VOL.  VII.  7 


98 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


saluted  me  with  much  courtesy.  He  seemed  a very 
quiet  person,  and  yet  had  a look  of  travel  and  adven- 
ture, and  gray  experience,  such  as  I could  have  fancied 
in  a palmer  of  ancient  times,  who  might  likewise  have 
worn  a similar  costume.  The  little  room  was  car* 
peted  and  neatly  furnished ; a portrait  of  its  occu* 
pant  was  hanging  on  the  wall ; and  on  a table  were 
two  swords  crossed, — one,  probably,  his  own  battle- 
weapon,  and  the  other,  which  I drew  half  out  of  the 
scabbard,  had  an  inscription  on  the  blade,  purporting 
that  it  had  been  taken  from  the  field  of  Waterloo. 
My  kind  old  hostess  was  anxious  to  exhibit  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  their  housekeeping,  and  led  me  into  the  bed- 
room, which  was  in  the  nicest  order,  with  a snow-white 
quilt  upon  the  bed ; and  in  a little  intervening  room 
was  a washing  and  bathing  apparatus  ; a convenience 
(judging  from  the  personal  aspect  and  atmosphere  of 
such  parties)  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  the  humbler 
ranks  of  British  life. 

The  old  soldier  and  his  wife  both  seemed  glad  of 
somebody  to  talk  with  ; but  the  good  woman  availed 
herself  of  the  privilege  far  more  copiously  than  the 
veteran  himself,  insomuch  that  he  felt  it  expedient  to 
give  her  an  occasional  nudge  with  his  elbow  in  her 
well-padded  ribs.  Don’t  you  be  so  talkative  ! ” quoth 
he  ; and,  indeed,  he  could  hardly  find  space  for  a word, 
and  quite  as  little  after  his  admonition  as  before.  Her 
nimble  tongue  ran  over  the  whole  system  of  life  in  the 
hospital.  The  brethren,  she  said,  had  a yearly  stipend^ 
(the  amount  of  which  she  did  not  mention),  and  such 
decent  lodgings  as  I saw,  and  some  other  advantages, 
free ; and,  instead  of  being  pestered  with  a great  many 
rules,  and  made  to  dine  together  at  a great  table,  they 
could  manage  their  little  household  matters  as  they 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


99 


liked,  buying  their  own  dinners,  and  having  them 
cooked  in  the  general  kitchen,  and  eating  them  snugly 
in  their  own  parlors.  And,”  added  she,  rightly 
deeming  this  the  crowning  privilege,  with  the  Mas- 
ter’s permission,  they  can  have  their  wives  to  take  care 
of  them  ; and  no  harm  comes  of  it ; and  what  more 
can  an  old  man  desire  ? ” It  was  evident  enough  that 
the  good  dame  found  herself  in  what  she  considered 
very  rich  clover,  and,  moreover,  had  plenty  of  small 
occupations  to  keep  her  from  getting  rusty  and  dull ; 
but  the  veteran  impressed  me  as  deriving  far  less  en- 
joyment from  the  monotonous  ease,  without  fear  of 
change  or  hope  of  improvement,  that  had  followed 
upon  thirty  years  of  peril  and  vicissitude.  I fancied, 
too,  that,  while  pleased  with  the  novelty  of  a stranger’s 
visit,  he  was  still  a little  shy  of  becoming  a spectacle 
for  the  stranger’s  curiosity ; for,  if  he  chose  to  be  mor- 
bid about  the  matter,  the  establishment  was  but  an 
almshouse,  in  spite  of  its  old-fashioned  magnificence, 
and  his  fine  blue  cloak  only  a pauper’s  garment  with 
a silver  badge  on  it  that  perhaps  galled  his  shoulder. 
In  truth,  the  badge  and  the  peculiar  garb,  though 
quite  in  accordance  with  the  manners  of  the  Earl  of 
Leicester’s  age,  are  repugnant  to  modern  prejudices, 
and  might  fitly  and  humanely  be  abolished. 

A year  or  two  afterwards  I paid  another  visit  to  the 
hospital,  and  found  a new  porter  established  in  office, 
and  already  capable  of  talking  like  a guide-book  about 
the  history,  antiquities,  and  present  condition  of  the 
charity.  He  informed  me  that  the  twelve  brethren 
are  selected  from  among  old  soldiers  of  good  char- 
acter, whose  other  resources  must  not  exceed  an  in- 
come of  five  pounds  ; thus  excluding  all  commissioned 
officers,  whose  half -pay  would  of  course  be  more  than 


100 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


that  amount.  They  receive  from  the  hospital  an  an- 
nuity of  eighty  pounds  each,  besides  their  apartments, 
a garment  of  fine  blue  cloth,  an  annual  abundance  of 
ale,  and  a privilege  at  the  kitchen-fire ; so  that,  con- 
sidering the  class  from  which  they  are  taken,  they  may 
well  reckon  themselves  among  the  fortunate  of  the 
earth.  Furthermore,  they  are  invested  with  political 
rights,  acquiring  a vote  for  member  of  Parliament  in 
virtue  either  of  their  income  or  brotherhood.  On  the 
other  hand,  as  regards  their  personal  freedom  or  con- 
duct, they  are  subject  to  a supervision  which  the  Mas- 
ter of  the  hospital  might  render  extremely  annoying, 
were  he  so  inclined  ; but  the  military  restraint  under 
which  they  have  spent  the  active  portion  of  their  lives 
makes  it  easier  for  them  to  endure  the  domestic  disci- 
pline here  imposed  upon  their  age.  The  porter  bore 
his  testimony  (whatever  were  its  value)  to  their  being 
as  contented  and  happy  as  such  a set  of  old  people 
could  possibly  be,  and  affirmed  that  they  spent  much 
time  in  burnishing  their  silver  badges,  and  were  as 
proud  of  them  as  a nobleman  of  his  star.  These 
badges,  by  the  by,  except  one  that  was  stolen  and  re- 
placed in  Queen  Anne’s  time,  are  the  very  same  that 
decorated  the  original  twelve  brethren. 

I have  seldom  met  with  a better  guide  than  my 
friend  the  porter.  He  appeared  to  take  a genuine 
interest  in  the  peculiarities  of  the  establishment,  and 
yet  had  an  existence  apart  from  them,  so  that  he  could 
the  better  estimate  what  those  peculiarities  were.  To 
be  sure,  his  knowledge  and  observation  were  confined 
to  external  things,  but,  so  far,  had  a sufficiently  exten- 
sive scope.  He  led  me  up  the  staircase  and  exhibited 
portions  of  the  timber  framework  of  the  edifice  that 
are  reckoned  to  be  eight  or  nine  hundred  years  old, 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


101 


and  are  still  neither  worm-eaten  nor  decayed  ; and 
traced  out  what  had  been  a great  hall  in  the  days  of 
the  Catholic  fraternity,  though  its  area  is  now  filled 
up  with  the  apartments  of  the  twelve  brethren ; and 
pointed  to  ornaments  of  sculptured  oak,  done  in  an 
ancient  religious  style  of  art,  but  hardly  visible  amid 
the  vaulted  dimness  of  the  roof.  Thence  we  went  to 
the  chapel  — the  Gothic  church  which  1 noted  several 
pages  back  — surmounting  the  gateway  that  stretches 
half  across  the  street.  Here  the  brethren  attend  daily 
prayer,  and  have  each  a prayer-book  of  the  finest  pa- 
per, with  a fair,  large  type  for  their  old  eyes.  The 
interior  of  the  chapel  is  very  plain,  with  a picture  of 
no  merit  for  an  altar-piece,  and  a single  old  pane  of 
painted  glass  in  the  great  eastern  window,  represent- 
ing, — no  saint,  nor  angel,  as  is  customary  in  such 
cases,  — but  that  grim  sinner,  the  Earl  of  Leicester. 
Nevertheless,  amid  so  many  tangible  proofs  of  his  hu- 
man sympathy,  one  comes  to  doubt  whether  the  Earl 
could  have  been  such  a hardened  reprobate,  after  all. 

We  ascended  the  tower  of  the  chapel,  and  looked 
down  between  its  battlements  into  the  street,  a hun- 
dred feet  below  us ; while  clambering  half-way  up 
were  foxglove-flowers,  weeds,  small  shrubs,  and  tufts 
of  grass,  that  had  rooted  themselves  into  the  rough- 
nesses of  the  stone  foundation.  Far  around  us  lay 
a rich  and  lovely  English  landscape,  with  many  a 
church-spire  and  noble  country-seat,  and  several  ob- 
jects of  high  historic  interest.  Edge  Hill,  where  the 
Puritans  defeated  Charles  I.,  is  in  sight  on  the  edge 
of  the  horizon,  and  much  nearer  stands  the  house 
where  Cromwell  lodged  on  the  night  before  the  battle. 
Right  under  our  eyes,  and  half  enveloping  the  town 
with  its  high-shouldering  wall,  so  that  all  the  closely 


102 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


compacted  streets  seemed  but  a precinct  of  the  estate, 
was  the  Earl  of  Warwick’s  delightful  park,  a wide  ex- 
tent of  sunny  lawns,  interspersed  with  broad  contigui- 
ties of  forest-shade.  Some  of  the  cedars  of  Lebanon 
were  there,  — a growth  of  trees  in  which  the  W arwick 
family  take  an  hereditary  pride.  The  two  highest 
towers  of  the  castle  heave  themselves  up  out  of  a mass 
of  foliage,  and  look  down  in  a lordly  manner  upon  the 
plebeian  roofs  of  the  town,  a part  of  which  are  slate- 
covered  (these  are  the  modern  houses),  and  a part  are 
coated  with  old  red  tiles,  denoting  the  more  ancient 
edifices.  A hundred  and  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago, 
a great  fire  destroyed  a considerable  portion  of  the 
town,  and  doubtless  annihilated  many  structures  of  a 
remote  antiquity  ; at  least,  there  was  a possibility  of 
very  old  houses  in  the  long  past  of  Warwick,  which 
King  Cymbeline  is  said  to  have  founded  in  the  year 
ONE  of  the  Christian  era ! 

And  this  historic  fact  or  poetic  fiction,  whichever  it 
may  be,  brings  to  mind  a more  indestructible  reality 
than  anything  else  that  has  occurred  within  the  pres- 
ent field  of  our  vision  ; though  this  includes  the  scene 
of  Guy  of  Warwick’s  legendary  exploits,  and  some  of 
those  of  the  Round  Table,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Battle 
of  Edge  Hill.  For  perhaps  it  was  in  the  landscape 
now  under  our  eyes  that  Posthumus  wandered  with  the 
King’s  daughter,  the  sweet,  chaste,  faithful,  and  cour- 
ageous Imogen,  the  tenderest  and  womanliest  woman 
that  Shakespeare  ever  made  immortal  in  the  world. 
The  silver  Avon,  which  we  see  flowing  so  quietly  by 
the  gray  castle,  may  have  held  their  images  in  its 
bosom. 

The  day,  though  it  began  brightly,  had  long  been 
overcast,  and  the  clouds  now  spat  down  a few  spiteful 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


103 


drops  upon  us,  besides  that  the  east-wind  was  very 
chill ; so  we  descended  the  winding  tower-stair,  and 
went  next  into  the  garden,  one  side  of  which  is  shut 
in  by  almost  the  only  remaining  portion  of  the  old 
city-wall.  A part  of  the  garden-ground  is  devoted  to 
grass  and  shrubbery,  and  permeated  by  gravel-walks, 
in  the  centre  of  one  of  which  is  a beautiful  stone  vase 
of  Egyptian  sculpture,  that  formerly  stood  on  the  top 
of  a Nilometer,  or  graduated  pillar  for  measuring  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  river  Nile.  On  the  pedestal  is  a 
Latin  inscription  by  Dr.  Parr,  who  (his  vicarage  of 
Hatton  being  so  close  at  hand)  was  probably  often 
the  Master’s  guest,  and  smoked  his  interminable  pipe 
along  these  garden-walks.  Of  the  vegetable-garden, 
which  lies  adjacent,  the  lion’s  share  is  appropriated 
to  the  Master,  and  twelve  small,  separate  patches  to 
the  individual  brethren,  who  cultivate  them  at  their 
own  judgment  and  by  their  own  labor  ; and  their 
beans  and  cauliflowers  have  a better  flavor,  I doubt 
not,  than  if  they  had  received  them  directly  from 
the  dead  hand  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  like  the  rest 
of  their  food.  In  the  farther  part  of  the  garden  is 
an  arbor  for  the  old  men’s  pleasure  and  convenience, 
and  I should  like  well  to  sit  down  among  them  there, 
and  And  out  what  is  really  the  bitter  and  the  sweet  of 
such  a sort  of  life.  As  for  the  old  gentlemen  them- 
selves, they  put  me  queerly  in  mind  of  the  Salem  Cus- 
tom House,  and  the  venerable  personages  whom  I found 
so  quietly  at  anchor  there. 

The  Master’s  residence,  forming  one  entire  side  of 
the  quadrangle,  fronts  on  the  garden,  and  wears  an 
aspect  at  once  stately  and  homely.  It  can  hardly 
have  undergone  any  perceptible  change  within  three 
centuries ; but  the  garden,  into  which  its  old  windows 


104 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


look  has  probably  put  off  a great  many  eccentricities 
and  quaintnesses,  in  the  way  of  cunningly  clipped 
shrubbery,  since  the  gardener  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s 
reign  threw  down  his  rusty  shears  and  took  his  de- 
parture. The  present  Master’s  name  is  Harris ; he  is 
a descendant  of  the  founder’s  family,  a gentleman  of 
independent  fortune,  and  a clergyman  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  as  the  regulations  of  the  hospital  re- 
quire him  to  be.  I know  not  what  are  his  official 
emoluments  ; but,  according  to  all  English  precedent, 
an  ancient  charitable  fund  is  certain  to  be  held  di- 
rectly for  the  behoof  of  those  who  administer  it,  and 
perhaps  incidentally,  in  a moderate  way,  for  the  nom- 
inal beneficiaries ; and,  in  the  case  before  us,  the 
twelve  brethren  being  so  comfortably  provided  for, 
the  Master  is  likely  to  be  at  least  as  comfortable  as  all 
the  twelve  together.  Yet  I ought  not,  even  in  a dis- 
tant land,  to  fling  an  idle  gibe  against  a gentleman  of 
whom  I really  know  nothing,  except  that  the  people 
under  his  charge  bear  all  possible  tokens  of  being 
tended  and  cared  for  as  sedulously  as  if  each  of  them 
sat  by  a warm  fireside  of  his  own,  with  a daughter 
bustling  round  the  hearth  to  make  ready  his  porridge 
and  his  titbits.  It  is  delightful  to  think  of  the  good 
life  which  a suitable  man,  in  the  Master’s  position,  has 
an  opportunity  to  lead,  — linked  to  time-honored  cus- 
toms, welded  in  with  an  ancient  system,  never  dream- 
ing of  radical  change,  and  bringing  all  the  mellowness 
and  richness  of  the  past  down  into  these  railway-days, 
which  do  not  compel  him  or  his  community  to  move  a 
whit  quicker  than  of  yore.  Everybody  can  appreci- 
ate the  advantages  of  going  ahead  ; it  might  be  well, 
sometimes,  to  think  whether  there  is  not  a word  or 
two  to  be  said  in  favor  of  standing  still  or  going  to 
sleep. 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


105 


From  the  garden  we  went  into  the  kitchen,  where 
the  fire  was  burning  hospitably,  and  diffused  a genial 
warmth  far  and  wide,  together  with  the  fragrance  of 
some  old  English  roast-beef,  which,  I think,  must  at 
that  moment  have  been  done  nearly  to  a turn.  The 
kitchen  is  a lofty,  spacious,  and  noble  room,  par- 
titioned off  round  the  fireplace,  by  a sort  of  semicir- 
cular oaken  screen,  or  rather,  an  arrangement  of  heavy 
and  high-backed  settles,  with  an  ever-open  entrance, 
between  them,  on  either  side  of  which  is  the  omni- 
present image  of  the  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff,  three 
feet  high,  and  excellently  carved  in  oak,  now  black 
with  time  and  unctuous  kitchen-smoke.  The  pon- 
derous mantel-piece,  likewise  of  carved  oak,  towers 
high  towards  the  dusky  ceiling,  and  extends  its  mighty 
breadth  to  take  in  a vast  area  of  hearth,  the  arch  of 
the  fireplace  being  positively  so  immense  that  I could 
compare  it  to  nothing  but  the  city  gateway.  Above 
its  cavernous  opening  were  crossed  two  ancient  hal- 
berds, the  weapons,  possibly,  of  soldiers  who  had 
fought  under  Leicester  in  the  Low  Countries ; and 
elsewhere  on  the  walls  were  displayed  several  muskets, 
which  some  of  the  present  inmates  of  the  hospital  may 
ha\e  levelled  against  the  French.  Another  ornament 
of  the  mantel-piece  was  a square  of  silken  needlework 
or  embroidery,  faded  nearly  white,  but  dimly  repre- 
senting that  wearisome  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff,  which 
we  should  hardly  look  twice  at,  only  that  it  was 
wrought  by  the  fair  fingers  of  poor  Amy  Robsart, 
and  beautifully  framed  in  oak  from  Kenilworth  Cas- 
tle, at  the  expense  of  a Mr.  Conner,  a countryman  of 
our  own.  Certainly,  no  Englishman  would  be  capable 
of  this  little  bit  of  enthusiasm.  Finally,  the  kitchen- 
firelight  glistens  on  a splendid  display  of  copper  flag- 


106 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


ons,  all  of  generous  capacity,  and  one  of  them  about 
as  big  as  a half-barrel ; the  smaller  vessels  contain 
the  customary  allowance  of  ale,  and  the  larger  one  is 
filled  with  that  foaming  liquor  on  four  festive  occa- 
sions of  the  year,  and  emptied  amain  by  the  jolly 
brotherhood.  I should  be  glad  to  see  them  do  it ; but 
it  would  be  an  exploit  fitter  for  Queen  Elizabeth’s  age 
than  these  degenerate  times. 

The  kitchen  is  the  social  hall  of  the  twelve  brethren. 
In  the  daytime,  they  bring  their  little  messes  to  be 
cooked  here,  and  eat  them  in  their  own  parlors  ; but 
after  a certain  hour,  the  great  hearth  is  cleared  and 
swept,  and  the  old  men  assemble  round  its  blaze,  each 
with  his  tankard  and  his  pipe,  and  hold  high  converse 
through  the  evening.  If  the  Master  be  a fit  man  for 
his  office,  methinks  he  will  sometimes  sit  down  socia- 
bly among  them ; for  there  is  an  elbow-chair  by  the 
fireside  which  it  would  not  demean  his  dignity  to  fill, 
since  it  was  occupied  by  King  J ames  at  the  great  fes- 
tival of  nearly  three  centuries  ago.  A sip  of  the  ale 
and  a whiff  of  the  tobacco-pipe  would  put  him  in 
friendly  relations  with  his  venerable  household ; and 
then  we  can  fancy  him  instructing  them  by  pithy 
apothegms  and  religious  texts,  which  were  first  uttered 
here  by  some  Catholic  priest  and  have  impregnated 
the  atmosphere  ever  since.  If  a joke  goes  round,  it 
shall  be  of  an  elder  coinage  than  Joe  Miller’s,  as  old 
as  Lord  Bacon’s  collection,  or  as  the  jest-book  that 
Master  Slender  asked  for  when  he  lacked  small-talk 
for  sweet  Anne  Page.  No  news  shall  be  spoken  of, 
later  than  the  drifting  ashore,  on  the  northern  coast, 
of  some  stern-post  or  figure-head,  a barnacled  frag- 
ment of  one  of  the  great  galleons  of  the  Spanish  Ar- 
mada. What  a tremor  would  pass  through  the  an 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


107 


tique  group,  if  a damp  newspaper  should  suddenly  be 
spread  to  dry  before  the  fire ! They  would  feel  as  if 
either  that  printed  sheet  or  they  themselves  must  be 
an  unreality.  What  a mysterious  awe,  if  the  shriek 
of  the  railway-train,  as  it  reaches  the  Warwick  sta- 
tion, should  ever  so  faintly  invade  their  ears  I Move- 
ment of  any  kind  seems  inconsistent  with  the  stability 
of  such  an  institution.  Nevertheless,  I trust  that  the 
ages  will  carry  it  along  with  them  ; because  it  is  such 
a pleasant  kind  of  dream  for  an  American  to  find  his 
way  thither,  and  behold  a piece  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury set  into  our  prosaic  times,  and  then  to  depart, 
and  think  of  its  arched  doorway  as  a spell-guarded  en- 
trance which  will  never  be  accessible  or  visible  to  him 
any  more. 

Not  far  from  the  market-place  of  Warwick  stands 
the  great  church  of  St.  Mary’s  : a vast  edifice,  indeed, 
and  almost  worthy  to  be  a cathedral.  People  who  pre- 
tend to  skill  in  such  matters  say  that  it  is  in  a poor 
style  of  architecture,  though  designed  (or,  at  least,  ex- 
tensively restored)  by  Sir  Christopher  W ren  ; but  I 
thought  it  very  striking,  with  its  wide,  liigh,  and  elab- 
orate windows,  its  tall  towers,  its  immense  length,  and 
(for  it  was  long  before  I outgrew  this  Americanism, 
the  love  of  an  old  thing  merely  for  the  sake  of  its 
age)  the  tinge  of  gray  antiquity  over  the  whole.  Once, 
while  I stood  gazing  up  at  the  tower,  the  clock  struck 
twelve  with  a very  deep  intonation,  and  immediately 
some  chimes  began  to  play,  and  kept  up  their  resound- 
ing music  for  five  minutes,  as  measured  by  the  hand 
upon  the  dial.  It  was  a very  delightful  harmony,  as 
airy  as  the  notes  of  birds,  and  seemed  a not  unbecom- 
ing freak  of  half-sportive  fancy  in  the  huge,  ancient, 
and  solemn  church ; although  I have  seen  an  old-fash- 


108 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


ioned  parlor-clock  that  did  precisely  the  same  thing, 
in  its  small  way. 

The  great  attraction  of  this  edifice  is  the  Beauchamp 
(or,  as  the  English,  who  delight  in  vulgarizing  their 
fine  old  Norman  names,  call  it,  the  Beechum)  Chapel, 
where  the  Earls  of  Warwick  and  their  kindred  have 
been  buried,  from  four  hundred  years  back  till  within 
a recent  period.  It  is  a stately  and  very  elaborate 
chapel,  with  a large  window  of  ancient  painted  glass, 
as  perfectly  preserved  as  any  that  I remember  seeing 
in  England,  and  remarkably  vivid  in  its  colors.  Here 
are  several  monuments  with  marble  figures  recumbent 
upon  them,  representing  the  Earls  in  their  knightly 
armor,  and  their  dames  in  the  ruffs  and  court-finery 
of  their  day,  looking  hardly  stiffer  in  stone  than  they 
must  needs  have  been  in  their  starched  linen  and  em- 
broidery. The  renowned  Earl  of  Leicester  of  Queen 
Elizabeth’s  time,  the  benefactor  of  the  hospital,  re- 
clines at  full  length  on  the  tablet  of  one  of  these 
tombs,  side  by  side  with  his  Countess,  — not  Amy 
Eobsart,  but  a lady  who  (unless  I have  confused  the 
story  with  some  other  mouldy  scandal)  is  said  to  have 
avenged  poor  Amy’s  murder  by  poisoning  the  Earl 
himself.  Be  that  as  it  may,  both  figures,  and  espe- 
cially the  Earl,  look  like  the  very  types  of  ancient 
Honor  and  Conjugal  Faith.  In  consideration  of  his 
long-enduring  kindness  to  the  twelve  brethren,  I can- 
not consent  to  believe  him  as  wicked  as  he  is  usually 
depicted ; and  it  seems  a marvel,  now  that  so  many 
well-established  historical  verdicts  have  been  reversed, 
why  some  enterprising  writer  does  not  make  out  Leices- 
ter to  have  been  the  pattern  nobleman  of  his  age. 

In  the  centre  of  the  chapel  is  the  magnificent  me- 
morial of  its  founder,  Richard  Beauchamp,  Earl  of 


ABOUT  WARWICK, 


109 


W arwick  in  the  time  of  Henry  VI.  On  a richly  or- 
namented altar-tomb  of  gray  marble  lies  the  bronze 
figure  of  a knight  in  gilded  armor,  most  admirably  ex- 
ecuted : for  the  sculptors  of  those  days  had  wonderful 
skill  in  their  own  style,  and  could  make  so  life-like 
an  image  of  a warrior,  in  brass  or  marble,  that,  if  a 
trumpet  were  sounded  over  his  tomb,  you  would  ex- 
pect him  to  start  up  and  handle  his  sword.  The  Earl 
whom  we  now  speak  of,  however,  has  slept  soundly  in 
spite  of  a more  serious  disturbance  than  any  blast  of  a 
trumpet,  unless  it  were  the  final  one.  Some  centuries 
after  his  death,  the  floor  of  the  chapel  fell  down  and 
broke  open  the  stone  colfin  in  which  he  was  buried  ; 
and  among  the  fragments  appeared  the  anciently  en- 
tombed Earl  of  W arwick,  with  the  color  scarcely  faded 
out  of  his  cheeks,  his  eyes  a little  sunken,  but  in  other 
respects  looking  as  natural  as  if  he  had  died  yester- 
day. But  exposure  to  the  atmosphere  appeared  to  be- 
gin and  finish  the  long-delayed  process  of  decay  in  a 
moment,  causing  him  to  vanish  like  a bubble ; so  that, 
almost  before  there  had  been  time  to  wonder  at  him, 
there  was  nothing  left  of  the  stalwart  Earl  save  his 
hair.  This  sole  relic  the  ladies  of  Warwick  made  prize 
of,  and  braided  it  into  rings  and  brooches  for  their 
own  adornment ; and  thus,  with  a chapel  and  a pon- 
derous tomb  built  on  purpose  to  protect  his  remains, 
this  great  nobleman  could  not  help  being  brought  un- 
timely to  the  light  of  day,  nor  even  keep  his  lovelocks 
on  his  skull  after  he  had  so  long  done  with  love. 
There  seems  to  be  a fatality  that  disturbs  people  in 
their  sepulchres,  when  they  have  been  over-careful  to 
render  them  magnificent  and  impregnable,  • — as  wit- 
ness the  builders  of  the  Pyramids,  and  Hadrian,  Au- 
gustus, and  the  Scipios,  and  most  other  personages 


110 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


whose  mausoleums  have  been  conspicuous  enough  t(i 
attract  the  violator;  and  as  for  dead  men’s  hair,  I 
have  seen  a lock  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth’s,  of  a 
reddish-brown  color,  which  perhaps  was  once  twisted 
round  the  delicate  forefinger  of  Mistress  Shore. 

The  direct  lineage  of  the  renowned  characters  that 
lie  buried  in  this  splendid  chapel  has  long  been  extinct. 
The  earldom  is  now  held  by  the  Grevilles,  descendants 
of  the  Lord  Brooke  who  was  slain  in  the  Parliamen- 
tary War;  and  they  have  recently  (that  is  to  say, 
within  a century)  built  a burial-vault  on  the  other  side 
of  the  church,  calculated  (as  the  sexton  assured  me, 
with  a nod  as  if  he  were  pleased)  to  afford  suitable 
and  respectful  accommodation  to  as  many  as  fourscore 
coffins.  Thank  Heaven,  the  old  man  did  not  call 
them  ‘‘  CASKETS  ” ! — a vile  modern  phrase,  which  com- 
pels a person  of  sense  and  good  taste  to  shrink  more 
disgustfully  than  ever  before  from  the  idea  of  being 
buried  at  all.  But  as  regards  those  eighty  coffins, 
only  sixteen  have  as  yet  been  contributed ; and  it  may 
be  a question  with  some  minds,  not  merely  whether 
the  Grevilles  will  hold  the  earldom  of  Warwick  until 
the  full  number  shall  be  made  up,  but  whether  earl- 
doms and  all  manner  of  lordships  will  not  have  faded 
out  of  England  long  before  those  many  generations 
shall  have  passed  from  the  castle  to  the  vault.  1 hope 
not.  A titled  and  landed  aristocracy,  if  anywise  an 
evil  and  an  encumbrance,  is  so  only  to  the  nation 
which  is  doomed  to  bear  it  on  its  shoulders ; and  an 
American,  whose  sole  relation  to  it  is  to  admire  its 
picturesque  effect  upon  society,  ought  to  be  the  last 
man  to  quarrel  with  what  affords  him  so  much  gratu- 
itous enjoyment.  Nevertheless,  conservative  as  Eng- 
land is,  and  though  I scarce  ever  found  an  English 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


Ill 


man  who  seemed  really  to  desire  change,  there  was 
continually  a dull  sound  in  my  ears  as  if  the  old  foun- 
dations of  things  were  crumbling  away.  Some  time 
or  other,  — by  no  irreverent  effort  of  violence,  but, 
rather,  in  spite  of  all  pious  efforts  to  uphold  a heter- 
ogeneous pile  of  institutions  that  will  have  outlasted 
their  vitality,  — at  some  unexpected  moment,  there 
must  come  a terrible  crash.  The  sole  reason  why  I 
should  desire  it  to  happen  in  my  day  is,  that  I might 
be  there  to  see ! But  the  ruin  of  my  own  country  is, 
perhaps,  all  that  I am  destined  to  witness ; and  that 
immense  catastrophe  (though  I am  strong  in  the  faith 
that  there  is  a national  lifetime  of  a thousand  years  in 
us  yet)  would  serve  any  man  well  enough  as  his  final 
spectacle  on  earth. 

If  the  visitor  is  inclined  to  carry  away  any  little 
memorial  of  Warwick,  he  had  better  go  to  an  Old  Cu- 
riosity Shop  in  the  High  Street,  where  there  is  a vast 
quantity  of  obsolete  gewgaws,  great  and  small,  and 
many  of  them  so  pretty  and  ingenious  that  you  won- 
der how  they  came  to  be  thrown  aside  and  forgotten. 
As  regards  its  minor  tastes,  the  world  changes,  but 
does  net  improve ; it  appears  to  me,  indeed,  that  there 
have  been  epochs  of  far  more  exquisite  fancy  than  the 
present  one,  in  matters  of  personal  ornament,  and  such 
delicate  trifles  as  we  put  upon  a drawing-room  table,  a 
mantel-piece,  or  a what-not.  The  shop  in  question  is 
near  the  East  Gate,  but  is  hardly  to  be  found  without 
careful  search,  being  denoted  only  by  the  name  of 
“Redfekn,”  painted  not  very  conspicuously  in  the  top- 
light  of  the  door.  Immediately  on  entering,  we  find 
ourselves  among  a confusion  of  old  rubbish  and  valua- 
bles, ancient  armor,  historic  portraits,  ebony  cabinets 
inlaid  with  pearl,  tall,  ghostly  clocks,  hideous  old  china, 


112 


ABOUT  WARWICK. 


dim  looking-glasses  in  frames  of  tarnished  magnifi- 
cence, — a thousand  objects  of  strange  aspect,  and  oth- 
ers that  almost  frighten  you  by  their  likeness  in  unlike- 
ness to  things  now  in  use.  It  is  impossible  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  variety  of  articles,  so  thickly  strewn  about 
that  we  can  scarcely  move  without  overthrowing  some 
great  curiosity  with  a crash,  or  sweeping  away  some 
small  one  hitched  to  our  sleeves.  Three  stories  of  the 
entire  house  are  crowded  in  like  manner.  The  collec- 
tion even  as  we  see  it  exposed  to  view,  must  have  been 
got  together  at  great  cost ; but  the  real  treasures  of  the 
establishment  lie  in  secret  repositories,  whence  they 
are  not  likely  to  be  drawn  forth  at  an  ordinary  sum- 
mons ; though,  if  a gentleman  with  a competently  long 
purse  should  call  for  them,  I doubt  not  that  the  signet- 
ring  of  Joseph’s  friend  Pharaoh,  or  the  Duke  of  Alva’s 
leading  staff,  or  the  dagger  that  killed  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  (all  of  which  I have  seen),  or  any  other 
almost  incredible  thing,  might  make  its  appearance. 
Gold  snuff-boxes,  antique  gems,  jewelled  goblets,  Ve- 
netian wine-glasses  (which  burst  when  poison  is  poured 
into  them,  and  therefore  must  not  be  used  for  modern 
wine-drinking),  jasper-handled  knives,  painted  Sevres 
teacu|)s,  — in  short,  there  are  all  sorts  of  things  that 
a virtuoso  ransacks  the  world  to  discover. 

It  would  be  easier  to  spend  a hundred  pounds  in 
Mr.  Redfern’s  shop  than  to  keep  the  money  in  one’s 
pocket  ; but,  for  my  part,  I contented  myself  with 
buying  a little  old  spoon  of  silver-gilt,  and  fantasti- 
cally shaped,  and  got  it  at  all  the  more  reasonable  rate 
because  there  happened  to  be  no  legend  attached  to  it. 
I could  supply  any  deficiency  of  that  kind  at  much 
less  expense  than  regilding  the  spoon  ! 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 


Fkom  Leamington  to  Stratford-on-Avon  the  dis- 
tance is  eight  or  nine  miles,  over  a road  that  seemed 
to  me  most  beautiful.  Not  that  I can  recall  any 
memorable  peculiarities ; for  the  country,  most  of  the 
way,  is  a succession  of  the  gentlest  swells  and  sub- 
sidences, affording  wide  and  far  glimpses  of  cham 
paign  scenery  here  and  there,  and  sinking  almost  to  a 
dead  level  as  we  draw  near  Stratford.  Any  landscape 
in  New  England,  even  the  tamest,  has  a more  striking 
outline,  and,  besides,  would  have  its  blue  eyes  open  in 
those  lakelets  that  we  encounter  almost  from  mile  to 
mile  at  home,  but  of  which  the  Old  Country  is  utterly 
destitute ; or  it  would  smile  in  our  faces  through  the 
medium  of  the  wayside  brooks  that  vanish  under  a 
low  stone  arch  on  one  side  of  the  road,  and  sparkle 
out  again  on  the  other.  Neither  of  these  pretty  fea- 
tures is  often  to  be  found  in  an  English  scene.  The 
charm  of  the  latter  consists  in  the  rich  verdure  of  the 
fields,  in  the  stately  wayside  trees  and  carefully  kept 
plantations  of  wood,  and  in  the  old  and  high  cultiv^a- 
tion  that  has  humanized  the  very  sods  by  mingling 
so  much  of  man’s  toil  and  care  among  them.  To  a.n 
American  there  is  a kind  of  sanctity  even  in  an  Eng- 
lish turnip-field,  when  he  thinks  how  long  that  small 
square  of  ground  has  been  known  and  recognized  as 
a possession,  transmitted  from  father  to  son,  trodden 
often  by  memorable  feet,  and  utterly  redeemed  from 
savagery  by  old  acquaintanceship  with  civilized  eyes. 

VOL.  VII.  8 


114  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 

The  wildest  things  in  England  are  more  than  half 
tame.  The  trees,  for  instance,  whether  in  hedge-row, 
park,  or  what  they  call  forest,  have  nothing  wild  about 
them.  They  are  never  ragged;  there  is  a certain 
decorous  restraint  in  the  freest  outspread  of  their 
branches,  though  they  spread  wider  than  any  self- 
nurturing  tree ; they  are  tall,  vigorous,  bulky,  with  a 
look  of  age-long  life,  and  a promise  of  more  years  to 
come,  all  of  which  will  bring  them  into  closer  kindred 
with  the  race  of  man.  Somebody  or  other  has  known 
them  from  the  sapling  upward ; and  if  they  endure 
long  enough,  they  grow  to  be  traditionally  observed 
and  honored,  and  connected  with  the  fortunes  of  old 
families,  till,  like  Tennyson’s  Talking  Oak,  they  bab- 
ble with  a thousand  leafy  tongues  to  ears  that  can  un- 
derstand them. 

An  American  tree,  however,  if  it  could  grow  in  fair 
competition  with  an  English  one  of  similar  species, 
would  probably  be  the  more  picturesque  object  of  the 
two.  The  Warwickshire  elm  has  not  so  beautiful  a 
shape  as  those  that  overhang  our  village  street ; and 
as  for  the  redoubtable  English  oak,  there  is  a certain 
John  Bullism  in  its  figure,  a compact  rotundity  of  foli- 
age, a lack  of  irregular  and  various  outline,  that  make 
it  look  wonderfully  like  a gigantic  caulifiower.  Its 
leaf,  too,  is  much  smaller  than  that  of  most  varieties 
of  American  oak ; nor  do  I mean  to  doubt  that  the 
latter,  with  free  leave  to  grow,  reverent  care  and  cul- 
tivation, and  immunity  from  the  axe,  would  live  out 
its  centuries  as  sturdily  as  its  English  brother,  and 
prove  far  the  nobler  and  more  majestic  specimen  of  a 
tree  at  the  end  of  them.  Still,  however  one’s  Yankee 
patriotism  may  struggle  against  the  admission,  it  must' 
be  owned  that  the  trees  and  other  objects  of  an  Eng- 


RECOLLECTIOI^S  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  116 


lish  landscape  take  hold  of  the  observer  by  numberless 
minute  tendrils,  as  it  were,  which,  look  as  closely  as 
we  choose,  we  never  find  in  an  American  scene.  The 
parasitic  growth  is  so  luxuriant,  that  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  so  gray  and  dry  in  our  climate,  is  better  worth 
observing  than  the  boughs  and  foliage  ; a verdant 
mossiness  coats  it  all  over ; so  that  it  looks  almost  as 
green  as  the  leaves;  and  often,  moreover,  the  stately 
stem  is  clustered  about,  high  upward,  with  creeping 
and  twining  shrubs,  the  ivy,  and  sometimes  the  mistle- 
toe, close-clinging  friends,  nurtured  by  the  moisture 
and  never  too  fervid  sunshine,  and  supporting  them- 
selves by  the  old  tree’s  abundant  strength.  We  call 
it  a parasitical  vegetation ; but,  if  the  phrase  imply 
any  reproach,  it  is  unkind  to  bestow  it  on  this  beauti- 
ful affection  and  relationship  which  exist  in  England 
between  one  order  of  plants  and  another : the  strong 
tree  being  always  ready  to  give  support  to  the  trailing 
shrub,  lift  it  to  the  sun,  and  feed  it  out  of  its  own 
heart,  if  it  crave  such  food ; and  the  shrub,  on  its  part, 
repaying  its  foster-father  with  an  ample  luxuriance  of 
beauty,  and  adding  Corinthian  grace  to  the  tree’s  lofty 
strength.  No  bitter  winter  nips  these  tender  little 
sympathies,  no  hot  sun  burns  the  life  out  of  them; 
and  therefore  they  outlast  the  longevity  of  the  oak, 
and,  if  the  woodman  permitted,  would  bury  it  in  a 
green  grave,  when  all  is  over. 

Should  there  be  nothing  else  along  the  road  to  look 
at,  an  English  hedge  might  well  suffice  to  occupy  the 
eyes,  and,  to  a depth  beyond  what  he  would  suppose, 
the  heart  of  an  American.  We  often  set  out  hedges 
in  our  own  soil,  but  might  as  well  set  out  figs  or  pine- 
apples and  expect  to  gather  fruit  of  them.  Something 
grows,  to  be  sure,  which  we  choose  to  call  a hedge ; 


116  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN 


but  it  lacks  the  dense,  luxuriant  variety  of  vegetation 
that  is  accumulated  into  the  English  original,  in  which 
a botanist  would  find  a thousand  shrubs  and  gracious 
herbs  that  the  hedgemaker  never  thought  of  planting 
there.  Among  them,  growing  wild,  are  many  of  the 
kindred  blossoms  of  the  very  flowers  which  our  pil- 
grim fathers  brought  from  England,  for  the  sake  of 
their  simple  beauty  and  homelike  associations,  and 
which  we  have  ever  since  been  cultivating  in  gardens. 
There  is  not  a softer  trait  to  be  found  in  the  character 
of  those  stern  men  than  that  they  should  have  been 
sensible  of  these  flower-roots  clinging  among  the  fibres 
of  their  rugged  hearts,  and  have  felt  the  necessity  of 
bringing  them  over  sea  and  making  them  hereditary 
in  the  new  land,  instead  of  trusting  to  what  rarer 
beauty  the  wilderness  might  have  in  store  for  them. 

Or,  if  the  roadside  has  no  hedge,  the  ugliest  stone 
fence  (such  as,  in  America,  would  keep  itself  bare  and 
unsympathizing  till  the  end  of  time}  is  sure  to  be 
covered  with  the  small  handiwork  of  Nature ; that 
careful  mother  lets  nothing  go  naked  there,  and  if  she 
cannot  provide  clothing,  gives  at  least  embroidery.  No 
sooner  is  the  fence  built  than  she  adopts  and  adorns  it 
as  a part  of  her  original  plan,  treating  the  hard,  un- 
comely construction  as  if  it  had  all  along  been  a fa- 
vorite idea  of  her  own.  A little  sprig  of  ivy  may  be 
seen  creeping  up  the  side  of  the  low  wall  and  clinging 
fast  with  its  many  feet  to  the  rough  surface ; a tuft  of 
grass  roots  itself  between  two  of  the  stones,  where  a 
pinch  or  two  of  wayside  dust  has  been  moistened  into 
nutritious  soil  for  it ; a small  bunch  of  fern  grows  in 
another  crevice ; a deep,  soft,  verdant  moss  spreads 
itself  along  the  top,  and  over  all  the  available  inequal- 
ities of  the  fence  ; and  where  nothing  else  wull  grow, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN  117 


lichens  stick  tenaciously  to  the  bare  stones,  and  varie- 
gate the  monotonous  gray  with  hues  of  yellow  and  red. 
Finally,  a great  deal  of  shrubbery  clusters  along  the 
base  of  the  stone  wall,  and  takes  away  the  hardness  of 
its  outline ; and  in  due  time,  as  the  upshot  of  these 
apparently  aimless  or  sportive  touches,  we  recognize 
that  the  beneficent  Creator  of  all  things,  working 
through  his  hand-maiden  whom  we  call  Nature,  has 
designed  to  mingle  a charm  of  divine  gracefulness 
even  with  so  earthly  an  institution  as  a boundary 
fence.  The  clown  who  wrought  at  it  little  dreamed 
what  fellow-laborer  he  had. 

The  English  should  send  us  photographs  of  portions 
of  the  trunks  of  trees,  the  tangled  and  various  prod- 
ucts of  a hedge,  and  a square  foot  of  an  old  wall. 
They  can  hardly  send  anything  else  so  characteristic. 
Their  artists,  especially  of  the  later  school,  sometimes 
toil  to  depict  such  subjects,  but  are  apt  to  stiffen  the 
lithe  tendrils  in  the  process.  The  poets  succeed  bet- 
ter, with  Tennyson  at  their  head,  and  often  produce 
ravishing  effects  by  dint  of  a tender  minuteness  of 
touch,  to  which  the  genius  of  the  soil  and  climate  art- 
fully impels  them : for,  as  regards  grandeur,  there  are 
loftier  scenes  in  many  countries  than  the  best  that 
England  can  show;  but,  for  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  smallest  object  that  lies  under  its  gentle  gloom 
and  sunshine,  there  is  no  scenery  like  it  anywhere. 

In  the  foregoing  paragraphs  I have  strayed  away  to 
a long  distance  from  the  road  to  Stratford-on-Avon ; 
for  I remember  no  such  stone  fences  as  I have  been 
speaking  of  in  Warwickshire,  nor  elsewhere  in  Eng- 
land, except  among  the  Lakes,  or  in  Yorkshire,  and 
the  rough  and  hilly  countries  to  the  north  of  it. 
Hedges  there  were  along  my  road,  however,  and  broad, 


118  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


level  fields,  rustic  hamlets,  and  cottages  of  ancient 
date,  — from  the  roof  of  one  of  which  the  occupant 
was  tearing  away  the  thatch,  and  showing  what  an 
accumulation  of  dust,  dirt,  mouldiness,  roots  of  weeds, 
families  of  mice,  swallows’-nests,  and  hordes  of  insects 
had  been  deposited  there  since  that  old  straw  was  new. 
Estimating  its  antiquity  from  these  tokens,  Shake- 
speare himself^  in  one  of  his  morning  rambles  out  of 
his  native  town,  might  have  seen  the  thatch  laid  on  ; 
at  all  events,  the  cottage  - walls  were  old  enough  to 
have  known  him  as  a guest.  A few  modern  villas 
were  also  do  be  seen,  and  perhaps  there  were  mansions 
of  old  gentility  at  no  great  distance,  but  hidden  among 
trees;  for  it  is  a point  of  English  pride  that  such 
houses  seldom  allow  themselves  to  be  visible  from  the 
high-road.  In  short,  I recollect  nothing  specially  re- 
markable along  the  way,  nor  in  the  immediate  ap- 
proach to  Stratford ; and  yet  the  picture  of  that  June 
morning  has  a glory  in  my  memory,  owing  chiefly,  I 
believe,  to  the  charm  of  the  English  summer-weather, 
the  really  good  days  of  which  are  the  most  delightful 
that  mortal  man  can  ever  hope  to  be  favored  with. 
Such  a genial  warmth ! A little  too  warm,  it  might 
be,  yet  only  to  such  a degree  as  to  assure  an  American 
(a  certainty  to  which  he  seldom  attains  till  attem- 
pered to  the  customary  austerity  of  an  English  sum- 
mer-day) that  he  was  quite  warm  enough.  And  after 
all,  there  was  an  unconquerable  freshness  in  the  at- 
mosphere, which  every  little  movement  of  a breeze 
shook  over  me  like  a dash  of  the  ocean-spray.  Such 
days  need  bring  us  no  other  happiness  than  their  own 
light  and  temperature.  No  doubt,  I could  not  have 
enjoyed  it  so  exquisitely,  except  that  there  must  be 
still  latent  in  us.  Western  wanderers  (even  after  an  ab- 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN,  119 


sence  of  two  centuries  and  more),  an  adaptation  to  the 
English  climate  which  makes  us  sensible  of  a motherly 
kindness  in  its  scantiest  sunshine,  and  overflows  us 
with  delight  at  its  more  lavish  smiles. 

The  spire  of  Shakespeare’s  church  — the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Trinity  — begins  to  show  itself  among  the 
trees  at  a little  distance  from  Stratford.  Next  we  see 
the  shabby  old  dwellings,  intermixed  with  mean-look- 
ing houses  of  modern  date ; and  the  streets  being  quite 
level,  you  are  struck  and  surprised  by  nothing  so  much 
as  the  tameness  of  the  general  scene,  as  if  Shake- 
speare’s genius  were  vivid  enough  to  have  wrought  pic- 
torial splendors  in  the  town  where  he  was  born.  Here 
and  there,  however,  a queer  edifice  meets  your  eye,  en- 
dowed with  the  individuality  that  belongs  only  to  the 
domestic  architecture  of  times  gone  by ; the  house 
seems  to  have  grown  out  of  some  odd  quality  in  its 
inhabitant,  as  a sea-shell  is  moulded  from  within  by 
the  character  of  its  inmate ; and  having  been  built  in 
a strange  fashion,  generations  ago,  it  has  ever  since 
been  growing  stranger  and  quainter,  as  old  humorists 
are  apt  to  do.  Here,  too  (as  so  often  impressed  me 
in  decayed  English  towns),  there  appeared  to  be  a 
greater  abundance  of  aged  people  wearing  small- 
clothes and  leaning  on  sticks  than  you  could  assemble 
on  our  side  of  the  water  by  sounding  a trumpet  and 
proclaiming  a reward  for  the  most  venerable.  I tried 
to  account  for  this  phenomenon  by  several  theories  : as, 
for  example,  that  our  new  towns  are  unwholesome  for 
age  and  kill  it  off  unseasonably ; or  that  our  old  men 
have  a subtile  sense  of  fitness,  and  die  of  their  own 
accord  rather  than  live  in  an  unseemly  contrast  with 
youth  and  novelty : but  the  secret  may  be,  after  all, 
that  hair-dyes,  false  teeth,  modern  arts  of  dress,  and 


120  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN 


contrivances  of  a skin-deep  youtlifulness,  have  not 
crept  into  these  antiquated  English  towns,  and  so  peo- 
ple grow  old  without  the  weary  necessity  of  seeming 
younger  than  they  are. 

After  wandering  through  two  or  three  streets,  I 
found  my  way  to  Shakespeare’s  birthplace,  which  is 
almost  a smaller  and  humbler  house  than  any  descrip- 
tion can  prepare  the  visitor  to  expect ; so  inevitably 
does  an  august  inhabitant  make  his  abode  palatial  to 
our  imaginations,  receiving  his  guests,  indeed,  in  a 
castle  in  the  air,  until  we  unwisely  insist  on  meeting 
him  among  the  sordid  lanes  and  alleys  of  lower  earth. 
The  portion  of  the  edifice  with  which  Shakespeare 
had  anything  to  do  is  hardly  large  enough,  in  the 
basement,  to  contain  the  butcher’s  stall  that  one  of 
his  descendants  kept,  and  that  still  remains  there, 
windowless,  with  the  cleaver-cuts  in  its  hacked  coun- 
ter, which  projects  into  the  street  under  a little  pent- 
house-roof,  as  if  waiting  for  a new  occupant. 

The  upper  half  of  the  door  was  open,  and,  on  my 
rapping  at  it,  a young  person  in  black  made  her  ap- 
pearance and  admitted  me ; she  was  not  a menial,  but 
remarkably  genteel  (an  American  characteristic)  for 
an  English  girl,  and  was  probably  the  daughter  of  the 
old  gentlewoman  who  takes  care  of  the  house.  This 
lower  room  has  a pavement  of  gray  slabs  of  stone, 
which  may  have  been  rudely  squared  when  the  house 
was  new,  but  are  now  all  cracked,  broken,  and  disar- 
ranged in  a most  unaccountable  way.  One  does  not 
see  how  any  ordinary  usage,  for  whatever  length  of 
time,  should  have  so  smashed  these  heavy  stones ; it 
is  as  if  an  earthquake  had  burst  up  through  the  floor, 
which  afterwards  had  been  imperfectly  trodden  down 
again.  The  room  is  whitewashed  and  very  clean,  but 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN,  121 


wofully  shabby  and  dingy,  coarsely  built,  and  such  as 
the  most  poetical  imagination  would  find  it  difficult  to 
idealize.  In  the  rear  of  this  apartment  is  the  kitchen, 
a still  smaller  room,  of  a similar  rude  aspect ; it  has  a 
great,  rough  fireplace,  with  space  for  a large  family 
under  the  blackened  opening  of  the  chimney,  and  an 
immense  passageway  for  the  smoke,  through  which 
Shakespeare  may  have  seen  the  blue  sky  by  day  and 
the  stars  glimmering  down  at  him  by  night.  It  is  now 
a dreary  spot  where  the  long-extinguished  embers  used 
to  be.  A glowing  fire,  even  if  it  covered  only  a quar- 
ter part  of  the  hearth,  might  still  do  much  towards 
making  the  old  kitchen  cheerful.  But  we  get  a de- 
pressing idea  of  the  stifled,  poor,  sombre  kind  of  life 
that  could  have  been  lived  in  such  a dwelling,  where 
this  room  seems  to  have  been  the  gathering-place  of 
the  family,  with  no  breadth  or  scope,  no  good  retire- 
ment, but  old  and  young  huddling  together  cheek  by 
jowl.  What  a hardy  plant  was  Shakespeare’s  gen- 
ius, how  fatal  its  development,  since  it  could  not  be 
blighted  in  such  an  atmosphere  ! It  only  brought  hu- 
man nature  the  closer  to  him,  and  put  more  unctuous 
earth  about  his  roots. 

Thence  I was  ushered  up  stairs  to  the  room  in  which 
Shakespeare  is  supposed  to  have  been  born : though, 
if  you  peep  too  curiously  into  the  matter,  you  may  find 
the  shadow  of  an  ugly  doubt  on  this,  as  well  as  most 
other  points  of  his  mysterious  life.  It  is  the  chamber 
over  the  butcher’s  shop,  and  is  lighted  by  one  broad 
window  containing  a great  many  small,  irregular  panes 
of  glass.  The  floor  is  made  of  planks,  very  rudely 
hewn,  and  fitting  together  with  little  neatness ; the 
naked  beams  and  rafters,  at  the  sides  of  the  room  and 
overhead,  bear  the  original  marks  of  the  builder’s 


122  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


broad-axe,  with  no  evidence  of  an  attempt  to  smooth 
off  the  job.  Again  we  have  to  reconcile  ourselves  to 
the  smallness  of  the  space  enclosed  by  these  illustri- 
ous walls,  — a circumstance  more  difficult  to  accept, 
as  regards  places  that  we  have  heard,  read,  thought, 
and  dreamed  much  about,  than  any  other  disenchant- 
ing particular  of  a mistaken  ideal.  A few  paces — ■ 
perhaps  seven  or  eight  — take  us  from  end  to  end  of 
it.  So  low  it  is,  that  I could  easily  touch  the  ceiling, 
and  might  have  done  so  without  a tiptoe-stretch,  had 
it  been  a good  deal  higher ; and  this  humility  of  the 
chamber  has  tempted  a vast  multitude  of  people  to 
write  their  names  overhead  in  pencil.  Every  inch  of 
the  side-walls,  even  into  the  obscurest  nooks  and  cor- 
ners, is  covered  with  a similar  record  ; all  the  window- 
panes,  moreover,  are  scrawled  with  diamond  signa- 
tures, among  which  is  said  to  be  that  of  W alter  Scott ; 
but  so  many  persons  have  sought  to  immortalize  them- 
selves in  close  vicinity  to  his  name,  that  I really  could 
not  trace  him  out.  Methinks  it  is  strange  that  people 
do  not  strive  to  forget  their  forlorn  little  identities, 
in  such  situations,  instead  of  thrusting  them  forward 
into  the  dazzle  of  a great  renown,  where,  if  noticed, 
they  cannot  but  be  deemed  impertinent. 

This  room,  and  the  entire  house,  so  far  as  I saw  it, 
are  whitewashed  and  exceedingly  clean ; nor  is  there 
the  aged,  musty  smell  with  which  old  Chester  first 
made  me  acquainted,  and  which  goes  far  to  cure  an 
American  of  his  excessive  predilection  for  antique 
residences.  An  old  lady,  who  took  charge  of  me  up 
stairs,  had  the  manners  and  aspect  of  a gentlewoman, 
and  talked  with  somewhat  formidable  knowledge  and 
appreciative  intelligence  about  Shakespeare.  Ar- 
ranged on  a table  and  in  chairs  were  various  prints, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN,  123 


views  of  houses  and  scenes  connected  with  Shake- 
speare’s memory,  together  with  editions  of  his  works 
and  local  publications  about  his  home  and  haunts, 
from  the  sale  of  which  this  respectable  lady  perhaps 
realizes  a handsome  profit.  At  any  rate,  I bought  a 
good  many  of  them,  conceiving  that  it  might  be  the 
civillest  way  of  requiting  her  for  her  instructive  con- 
versation and  the  trouble  she  took  in  showing  me  the 
house.  It  cost  me  a pang  (not  a curmudgeonly,  but  a 
gentlemanly  one)  to  offer  a downright  fee  to  the  lady^ 
like  girl  who  had  admitted  me ; but  I swallowed  my 
•delicate  scruples  with  some  little  difficulty,  and  she 
digested  hers,  so  far  as  I could  observe,  with  no  diffi- 
culty at  all.  In  fact,  nobody  need  fear  to  hold  out 
half  a crown  to  any  person  with  whom  he  has  occa- 
sion to  speak  a w6rd  in  England. 

I should  consider  it  unfair  to  quit  Shakespeare’s 
house  without  the  frank  acknowledgment  that  I was 
conscious  of  not  the  slightest  emotion  while  viewing 
it,  nor  any  quickening  of  the  imagination.  This  has 
often  happened  to  me  in  my  visits  to  memorable 
places.  Whatever  pretty  and  apposite  reflections  I 
may  have  made  upon  the  subject  had  either  occurred 
to  me  before  I ever  saw  Stratford,  or  have  been  elabo- 
rated since.  It  is  pleasant,  nevertheless,  to  think  that 
I have  seen  the  place ; and  I believe  that  I can  form 
a more  sensible  and  vivid  idea  of  Shakespeare  as  a 
flesh-and-blood  individual  now  that  I have  stood  on 
the  kitchen-hearth  and  in  the  birth-chamber  ; but  I 
am  not  quite  certain  that  this  power  of  realization  is 
altogether  desirable  in  reference  to  a great  poet.  The 
Shakespeare  whom  I met  there  took  various  guises, 
but  had  not  his  laurel  on.  He  was  successively  the 
roguish  boy,  - — the  youthful  deer-stealer,  — the  com- 


124  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 


rade  of  players,  — the  too  familiar  friend  of  Dave- 
nant’s  mother,  — the  careful,  thrifty,  thriven  man  of 
property  who  came  back  from  London  to  lend  money 
on  bond,  and  occupy  the  best  house  in  Stratford,  — 
the  mellow,  red-nosed,  autumnal  boon-companion  of 
John  a’  Combe,  — and  finally  (or  else  the  Stratford 
gossips  belied  him),  the  victim  of  convivial  habits, 
who  met  his  death  by  tumbling  into  a ditch  on  his 
way  home  from  a drinking-bout,  and  left  his  second- 
best  bed  to  his  poor  wife. 

I feel,  as  sensibly  as  the  reader  can,  what  horrible 
impiety  it  is  to  remember  these  things,  be  they  true* 
or  false.  In  either  case,  they  ought  to  vanish  out  of 
sight  on  the  distant  ocean-line  of  the  past,  leaving  a 
pure,  white  memory,  even  as  a sail,  though  perhaps 
darkened  with  many  stains,  looks  showy  white  on  the 
far  horizon.  But  1 draw  a moral  from  these  unwor- 
thy reminiscences  and  this  embodiment  of  the  poet,  as 
suggested  by  some  of  the  grimy  actualities  of  his  life. 
It  is  for  the  high  interests  of  the  world  not  to  insist 
upon  finding  out  that  its  greatest  men  are,  in  a certain 
lower  sense,  very  much  the  same  kind  of  men  as  the 
rest  of  us,  and  often  a little  worse  ; because  a common 
mind  cannot  properly  digest  such  a discovery,  nor  ever 
know  the  true  proportion  of  the  great  man’s  good  and 
evil,  nor  how  small  a part  of  him  it  was  that  touched 
our  muddy  or  dusty  earth.  Thence  comes  moral  be- 
wilderment, and  even  intellectual  loss,  in  regard  to 
what  is  best  of  him.  When  Shakespeare  invoked  a 
curse  on  the  man  who  should  stir  his  bones,  he  per^ 
haps  meant  the  larger  share  of  it  for  him  or  them  who 
should  pry  into  his  perishing  earthliness,  the  defects 
or  even  the  merits  of  the  character  that  he  wore  in 
Stratford,  when  he  had  left  mankind  so  much  to  muse 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN,  125 


upon  that  was  imperishable  and  divine.  Heaven  keep 
me  from  incurring  any  part  of  the  anathema  in  re- 
quital for  the  irreverent  sentences  above  written ! 

From  Shakespeare’s  house,  the  next  step,  of  course, 
is  to  visit  his  burial-place.  The  appearance  of  the 
church  is  most  venerable  and  beautiful,  standing  amid 
a great  green  shadow  of  lime-trees,  above  which  rises 
the  spire,  while  the  Gothic  battlements  and  buttresses 
and  vast  arched  windows  are  obscurely  seen  through 
the  boughs.  The  Avon  loiters  past  the  churchyard, 
an  exceedingly  sluggish  river,  which  might  seem  to 
have  been  considering  which  way  it  should  flow  ever 
since  Shakespeare  left  off  paddling  in  it  and  gather- 
ing the  large  forget-me-nots  that  grow  among  its  flags 
and  water-weeds. 

An  old  man  in  small-clothes  was  waiting  at  the 
gate ; and  inquiring  whether  I wished  to  go  in,  he  pre- 
ceded me  to  the  church-porch,  and  rapped.  I could 
have  done  it  quite  as  effectually  for  myself ; but  it 
seems  the  old  people  of  the  neighborhood  haunt  about 
the  churchyard,  in  spite  of  the  frowns  and  remon- 
strances of  the  sexton,  who  grudges  them  the  half-elee- 
mosynary sixpence  which  they  sometimes  get  from 
visitors.  I was  admitted  into  the  church  by  a respect- 
able-looking and  intelligent  man  in  black,  the  parish- 
clerk,  I suppose,  and  probably  holding  a richer  incum- 
bency than  his  vicar,  if  all  the  fees  which  he  handles 
remain  in  his  own  pocket.  He  was  already  exhibiting 
the  Shakespeare  monuments  to  two  or  three  visitors, 
and  several  other  parties  came  in  while  I was  there. 

The  poet  and  his  family  are  in  possession  of  what 
may  be  considered  the  very  best  burial-places  that  the 
church  affords.  They  lie  in  a row,  right  across  the 
breadth  of  the  chancel,  the  foot  of  each  gravestone 


126  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


being  close  to  the  elevated  floor  on  which  the  altar 
stands.  Nearest  to  the  side  - wall,  beneath  Shake- 
speare’s bust,  is  a slab  bearing  a Latin  inscription  ad- 
dressed to  his  wife,  and  covering  her  remains  ; then 
his  own  slab,  with  the  old  anathematizing  stanza 
upon  it ; then  that  of  Thomas  Nash,  who  married  his 
granddaughter  ; then  that  of  Dr.  Hall,  the  husband  of 
his  daughter  Susannah ; and,  lastly,  Susannah’s  own. 
Shakespeare’s  is  the  commonest- looking  slab  of  all, 
being  just  such  a flag-stone  as  Essex  Street  in  Salem 
used  to  be  paved  with,  when  I was  a boy.  Moreover, 
unless  my  eyes  or  recollection  deceive  me,  there  is  a 
crack  across  it,  as  if  it  had  already  undergone  some 
such  violence  as  the  inscription  deprecates.  Unlike 
the  other  monuments  of  the  family,  it  bears  no  name, 
nor  am  I acquainted  with  the  grounds  or  authority  on 
which  it  is  absolutely  determined  to  be  Shakespeare’s ; 
although,  being  in  a range  with  those  of  his  wife  and 
children,  it  might  naturally  be  attributed  to  him.  But, 
then,  why  does  his  wife,  who  died  afterwards,  take 
precedence  of  him  and  occupy  the  place  next  his  bust? 
And  where  are  the  graves  of  another  daughter  and  a 
son,  who  have  a better  right  in  the  family  row  than 
Thomas  Nash,  his  grandson-in-law  ? Might  not  one 
or  both  of  them  have  been  laid  under  the  nameless 
stone?  But  it  is  dangerous  trifling  with  Shakespeare’s 
dust ; so  I forbear  to  meddle  further  with  the  grave 
(though  the  prohibition  makes  it  tempting),  and  shall 
let  whatever  bones  be  in  it  rest  in  peace.  Yet  I must 
needs  add  that  the  inscription  on  the  bust  seems  to 
imply  that  Shakespeare’s  grave  was  directly  under- 
neath it. 

The  poet’s  bust  is  affixed  to  the  northern  wall  of 
the  church,  the  base  of  it  being  about  a man’s  height, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  127 

or  rather  more,  above  the  floor  of  the  chancel.  The 
features  of  this  piece  of  sculpture  are  entirely  unlike 
any  portrait  of  Shakespeare  that  I have  ever  seen, 
and  compel  me  to  take  down  the  beautiful,  lofty- 
browed,  and  noble  picture  of  him  which  has  hitherto 
hung  in  my  mental  portrait-gallery.  The  bust  cannot 
be  said  to  represent  a beautiful  face  or  an  eminently 
noble  head ; but  it  clutches  firmly  hold  of  one’s  sense 
of  reality  and  insists  upon  your  accepting  it,  if  not  as 
Shakespeare  the  poet,  yet  as  the  wealthy  burgher  of 
Stratford,  the  friend  of  John  a’  Combe,  who  lies  yon- 
der in  the  corner.  I know  not  what  the  phrenologists 
say  to  the  bust.  The  forehead  is  but  moderately  de- 
veloped, and  retreats  somewhat,  the  upper  part  of  the 
skull  rising  pyramidally ; the  eyes  are  prominent  al- 
most beyond  the  penthouse  of  the  brow  ; the  upper  lip 
is  so  long  that  it  must  have  been  almost  a deformity, 
unless  the  sculptor  artistically  exaggerated  its  length, 
in  consideration,  that,  on  the  pedestal,  it  must  be  fore- 
shortened by  being  looked  at  from  below.  On  the 
whole,  Shakespeare  must  have  had  a singular  rather 
than  a prepossessing  face  ; and  it  is  wonderful  how, 
with  this  bust  before  its  eyes,  the  world  has  persisted 
in  maintaining  an  erroneous  notion  of  his  appearance, 
allowing  painters  and  sculptors  to  foist  their  idealized 
nonsense  on  us  all,  instead  of  the  genuine  man.  For 
my  part,  the  Shakespeare  of  my  mind’s  eye  is  hence- 
forth to  be  a personage  of  a ruddy  English  complex- 
ion, with  a reasonably  capacious  brow,  intelligent  and 
quickly  observant  eyes,  a nose  curved  slightly  out- 
ward, a long,  queer  upper  lip,  with  the  mouth  a little 
unclosed  beneath  it,  and  cheeks  considerably  developed 
in  the  lower  part  and  beneath  the  chin.  But  when 
Shakespeare  was  himself  (for  nine  tenths  of  the  time, 


128  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 


according  to  all  appearances,  he  was  but  the  burgher 
of  Stratford),,  he  doubtless  shone  through  this  dull 
mask  and  transfigured  it  into  the  face  of  an  angel. 

Fifteen  or  twenty  feet  behind  the  row  of  Shake- 
speare gravestones  is  the  great  east -window  of  the 
church,  now  brilliant  with  stained  glass  of  recent 
manufacture.  On  one  side  of  this  window,  under  a 
sculptured  arch  of  marble,  lies  a full-length  marble 
figure  of  John  a’  Combe,  clad  in  what  I take  to  be  a 
robe  of  municipal  dignity,  and  holding  its  hands  de- 
voutly clasped.  It  is  a sturdy  English  figure,  with 
coarse  features,  a type  of  ordinary  man  whom  we 
smile  to  see  immortalized  in  the  sculpturesque  mate- 
rial of  poets  and  heroes  ; but  the  prayerful  attitude 
encourages  us  to  believe  that  the  old  usurer  may  not, 
after  all,  have  had  that  grim  reception  in  the  other 
world  which  Shakespeare’s  squib  foreboded  for  him. 
By  the  by,  till  I grew  somewhat  familiar  with  W ar- 
wickshire  pronunciation,  I never  understood  that  the 
point  of  those  ill-natured  lines  was  a pun.  ‘ Oho ! ’ 
quoth  the  Devil,  ^ ’t  is  my  John  a’  Combe  ! ’ ” — that 
is,  “My  John  has  come  ! ” 

Close  to  the  poet’s  bust  is  a nameless,  oblong,  cubic 
tomb,  supposed  to  be  that  of  a clerical  dignitary  of 
the  fourteenth  century.  The  church  has  other  mural 
monuments  and  altar-tombs,  one  or  two  of  the  latter 
upholding  the  recumbent  figures  of  knights  in  armor 
and  their  dames,  very  eminent  and  worshipful  person- 
ages in  their  day,  no  doubt,  but  doomed  to  appear  for- 
ever intrusive  and  impertinent  within  the  precincts 
which  Shakespeare  has  made  his  own.  His  renown 
is  tyrannous,  and  suffers  nothing  else  to  be  recognized 
within  the  scope  of  its  material  presence,  unless  illu- 
minated by  some  side-ray  from  himself.  The  clerk 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  129 

informed  me  that  interments  no  longer  take  place  in 
any  part  of  the  church.  And  it  is  better  so  ; for 
methinks  a person  of  delicate  individuality,  curious 
about  his  burial-place,  and  desirous  of  six  feet  of  earth 
for  himself  alone,  could  never  endure  to  lie  buried 
near  Shakespeare,  but  would  rise  up  at  midnight  and 
grope  his  way  out  of  the  church-door,  rather  than  sleep 
in  the  shadow  of  so  stupendous  a memory. 

I should  hardly  have  dared  to  add  another  to  the 
innumerable  descriptions  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  if  it 
had  not  seemed  to  me  that  this  would  form  a fitting 
framework  to  some  reminiscences  of  a very  remarkable 
woman.  Her  labor,  while  she  lived,  was  of  a nature 
and  purpose  outwardly  irreverent  to  the  name  of  Shake- 
speare, yet,  by  its  actual  tendency,  entitling  her  to 
the  distinction  of  being  that  one  of  all  his  worshippers 
who  sought,  though  she  knew  it  not,  to  place  the  rich- 
est and  stateliest  diadem  upon  his  brow.  We  Amer- 
icans, at  least,  in  the  scanty  annals  of  our  literature, 
cannot  afford  to  forget  her  high  and  conscientious  ex- 
ercise of  noble  faculties,  which,  indeed,  if  you  look  at 
the  matter  in  one  way,  evolved  only  a miserable  error, 
but,  more  fairly  considered,  produced  a result  worth 
almost  what  it  cost  her.  Her  faith  in  her  own  ideas 
was  so  genuine,  that,  erroneous  as  they  were,  it  trans- 
muted them  to  gold,  or,  at  all  events,  interfused  a 
large  proportion  of  that  precious  and  indestructible 
substance  among  the  waste  material  from  which  it 
can  readily  be  sifted. 

The  only  time  I ever  saw  Miss  Bacon  was  in  Lon- 
don, where  she  had  lodgings  in  Spring  Street,  Sussex 
Gardens,  at  the  house  of  a grocer,  a portly,  middle- 
aged,  civil,  and  friendly  man,  who,  as  well  as  his  wife, 
appeared  to  feel  a personal  kindness  towards  their 

VOL.  vii.  9 


130  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 

lodger.  I was  ushered  up  two  (and  I rather  believe 
three)  pair  of  stairs  into  a parlor  somewhat  humbly 
furnished,  and  told  that  Miss  Bacon  would  come  soon. 
There  were  a number  of  books  on  the  table,  and,  look- 
ing into  them,  I found  that  every  one  had  some  ref- 
erence, more  or  less  immediate,  to  her  Shakespearian 
theory,  — a volume  of  Raleigh’s  “ History  of  the 
World,”  a volume  of  Montaigne,  a volume  of  Lord 
Bacon’s  Letters,  a volume  of  Shakespeare’s  Plays  ; and 
on  another  table  lay  a large  roll  of  manuscript,  which 
I presume  to  have  been  a portion  of  her  work.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  a pocket-Bible  among  the  books,  but 
everything  else  referred  to  the  one  despotic  idea  that 
had  got  possession  of  her  mind ; and  as  it  had  en- 
grossed her  whole  soul  as  well  as  her  intellect,  I have 
no  doubt  that  she  had  established  subtile  connections 
between  it  and  the  Bible  likewise.  As  is  apt  to  be 
the  case  with  solitary  students.  Miss  Bacon  probably 
read  late  and  rose  late  ; for  I took  up  Montaigne  (it 
was  Hazlitt’s  translation)  and  had  been  reading  his 
journey  to  Italy  a good  while  before  she  appeared. 

I had  expected  (the  more  shame  for  me,  having  no 
other  ground  of  such  expectation  than  that  she  was  a 
literary  woman)  to  see  a very  homely,  uncouth,  elderly 
personage,  and  was  quite  agreeably  disappointed  by 
her  aspect.  She  was  rather  uncommonly  tall,  and 
had  a striking  and  expressive  face,  dark  hair,  dark 
eyes,  which  shone  with  an  inward  light  as  soon  as  she 
began  to  speak,  and  by  and  by  a color  came  into  her 
cheeks  and  made  her  look  almost  young.  Not  that 
she  really  was  so  ; she  must  have  been  beyond  middle 
age : and  there  was  no  unkindness  in  coming  to  that 
conclusion,  because,  making  allowance  for  years  and 
ill-health,  I could  suppose  her  to  have  been  handsome 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  131 


and  exceedingly  attractive  once.  Though  wholly  es- 
tranged from  society,  there  was  little  or  no  restraint 
or  embarrassment  in  her  manner  : lonely  people  are 
generally  glad  to  give  utterance  to  their  pent-up  ideas, 
and  often  bubble  over  with  them  as  freely  as  children 
with  their  new-found  syllables.  I cannot  tell  how  it 
came  about,  but  we  immediately  found  ourselves  tak- 
ing a friendly  and  familiar  tone  together,  and  began 
to  talk  as  if  we  had  known  one  another  a very  long 
while.  A little  preliminary  correspondence  had  indeed 
smoothed  the  way,  and  we  had  a definite  topic  in  the 
contemplated  publication  of  her  book. 

She  was  very  communicative  about  her  theory,  and 
would  have  been  much  more  so  had  I desired  it ; but, 
being  conscious  within  myself  of  a sturdy  unbelief,  I 
deemed  it  fair  and  honest  rather  to  repress  than  draw 
her  out  upon  the  subject.  Unquestionably,  she  was  a 
monomaniac  ; these  overmastering  ideas  about  the  au- 
thorship of  Shakespeare’s  Plays,  and  the  deep  political 
philosophy  concealed  beneath  the  surface  of  them,  had 
completely  thrown  her  off  her  balance  ; but  at  the 
same  time  they  had  wonderfully  developed  her  intel- 
lect, and  made  her  what  she  could  not  otherwise  have 
become.  It  was  a very  singular  phenomenon : a sys- 
tem of  philosophy  growing  up  in  this  woman’s  mind 
without  her  volition, — contrary,  in  fact,  to  the  deter- 
mined resistance  of  her  volition,  — and  substituting 
itself  in  the  place  of  everything  that  originally  grew 
there.  To  have  based  such  a system  on  fancy,  and 
unconsciously  elaborated  it  for  herself,  was  almost  as 
wonderful  as  really  to  have  found  it  in  the  plays. 
But,  in  a certain  sense,  she  did  actually  find  it  there, 
Shakespeare  has  surface  beneath  surface,  to  an  im- 
measurable depth,  adapted  to  the  plummet -line  of 


132  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 

every  reader ; his  works  present  many  phases  of  truth, 
each  with  scope  large  enough  to  fill  a contemplative 
mind.  Whatever  you  seek  in  him  you  will  surely  dis- 
cover, provided  you  seek  truth.  There  is  no  exhaust- 
ing the  various  interpretation  of  his  symbols ; and  a 
thousand  years  hence  a world  of  new  readers  will  pos- 
sess a whole  library  of  new  books,  as  we  ourselves  do, 
in  these  volumes  old  already.  I had  half  a mind  to 
suggest  to  Miss  Bacon  this  explanation  of  her  theory, 
but  forbore,  because  (as  I could  readily  perceive)  she 
had  as  princely  a spirit  as  Queen  Elizabeth  herself, 
and  would  at  once  have  motioned  me  from  the  room. 

I had  heard,  long  ago,  that  she  believed  that  the 
material  evidences  of  her  dogma  as  to  the  authorship, 
together  with  the  key  of  the  new  philosophy,  would  be 
found  buried  in  Shakespeare’s  grave.  Recently,  as  I 
understood  her,  this  notion  had  been  somewhat  modi- 
fied, and  was  now  accurately  defined  and  fully  devel- 
oped in  her  mind,  with  a result  of  perfect  certainty. 
In  Lord  Bacon’s  Letters,  on  which  she  laid  her  finger 
as  she  spoke,  she  had  discovered  the  key  and  clew  to 
the  whole  mystery.  There  were  definite  and  minute 
instructions  how  to  find  a will  and  other  documents 
relating  to  the  conclave  of  Elizabethan  philosophers, 
which  were  concealed  (when  and  by  whom  she  did  not 
inform  me)  in  a hollow  space  in  the  under  surface  of 
Shakespeare’s  gravestone.  Thus  the  terrible  prohibi- 
tion to  remove  the  stone  was  accounted  for.  The  di- 
rections, she  intimated,  went  completely  and  precisely 
to  the  point,  obviating  all  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
coming  at  the  treasure,  and  even,  if  I remember  right, 
were  so  contrived  as  to  ward  off  any  troublesome  con- 
sequences likely  to  ensue  from  the  interference  of  the 
parish-officers.  All  that  Miss  Bacon  now  remained  in 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  133 


England  for  — indeed,  the  object  for  which  she  had 
come  hither,  and  which  had  kept  her  here  for  three 
years  past  — was  to  obtain  possession  of  these  mate- 
rial and  unquestionable  proofs  of  the  authenticity  of 
her  theory. 

She  communicated  all  this  strange  matter  in  a low, 
quiet  tone ; while,  on  my  part,  I listened  as  quietly, 
and  without  any  expression  of  dissent.  Controversy 
against  a faith  so  settled  would  have  shut  her  up  at 
once,  and  that,  too,  without  in  the  least  weakening  her 
belief  in  the  existence  of  those  treasures  of  the  tomb : 
and  had  it  been  possible  to  convince  her  of  their  in- 
tangible nature,  I apprehend  that  there  would  have 
been  nothing  left  for  the  poor  enthusiast  save  to  col- 
lapse and  die.  She  frankly  confessed  that  she  could 
no  longer  bear  the  society  of  those  who  did  not  at  least 
lend  a certain  sympathy  to  her  views,  if  not  fully 
share  in  them ; and  meeting  little  sympathy  or  none, 
she  had  now  entirely  secluded  herself  from  the  world. 
In  all  these  years,  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Farrar  a few 
times,  but  had  long  ago  given  her  up  ; Carlyle  once 
or  twice,  but  not  of  late,  although  he  had  received  her 
kindly;  Mr.  Buchanan,  while  Minister  in  England, 
had  once  called  on  her ; and  General  Campbell,  our 
Consul  in  London,  had  met  her  two  or  three  times  on 
business.  With  these  exceptions,  which  she  marked 
so  scrupulously  that  it  was  perceptible  what  epochs 
they  were  in  the  monotonous  passage  of  her  days,  she 
had  lived  in  the  profoundest  solitude.  She  never 
walked  out ; she  suffered  much  from  ill-health ; and 
yet,  she  assured  me,  she  was  perfectly  happy. 

I could  well  conceive  it ; for  Miss  Bacon  imagined 
herself  to  have  received  (what  is  certainly  the  greatest 
boon  ever  assigned  to  mortals)  a high  mission  in  the 


134  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 


world,  with  adequate  powers  for  its  accomplishment ; 
and  lest  even  these  should  prove  insufficient,  she  had 
faith  that  special  interpositions  of  Providence  were 
forwarding  her  human  efforts.  This  idea  was  contin- 
ually coming  to  the  surface,  during  our  interview. 
She  believed,  for  example,  that  she  had  been  provi- 
dentially led  to  her  lodging-house,  and  put  in  relations 
with  the  good-natured  grocer  and  his  family ; and,  to 
say  the  truth,  considering  what  a savage  and  stealthy 
tribe  the  London  lodging-house  keepers  usually  are, 
the  honest  kindness  of  this  man  and  his  household  ap- 
peared to  have  been  little  less  than  miraculous.  Evi- 
dently, too,  she  thought  that  Providence  had  brought 
me  forward  — a man  somewhat  connected  with  litera- 
ture — at  the  critical  juncture  when  she  needed  a ne- 
gotiator with  the  booksellers  ; and,  on  my  part,  though 
little  accustomed  to  regard  myself  as  a divine  minis- 
ter, and  though  I might  even  have  preferred  that 
Providence  should  select  some  other  instrument,  I had 
no  scruple  in  undertaking  to  do  what  I could  for  her. 
Her  book,  as  I could  see  by  turning  it  over,  was  a 
very  remarkable  one,  and  worthy  of  being  offered  to 
the  public,  which,  if  wise  enough  to  appreciate  it, 
would  be  thankful  for  what  was  good  in  it  and  merci- 
ful to  its  faults.  It  was  founded  on  a prodigious  error, 
but  was  built  up  from  that  foundation  with  a good 
many  prodigious  truths.  And,  at  all  events,  whether 
I could  aid  her  literary  views  or  no,  it  would  have 
been  both  rash  and  impertinent  in  me  to  attempt 
drawing  poor  Miss  Bacon  out  of  her  delusions,  which 
were  the  condition  on  which  she  lived  in  comfort  and 
joy,  and  in  the  exercise  of  great  intellectual  power. 
So  I left  her  to  dream  as  she  pleased  about  the  treas. 
ures  of  Shakespeare’s  tombstone,  and  to  form  what- 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  135 


ever  designs  might  seem  good  to  herself  for  obtaining 
possession  of  them.  I was  sensible  of  a lady-like  feel- 
^ ing  of  propriety  in  Miss  Bacon,  and  a New  England 
orderliness  in  her  character,  and,  in  spite  of  her  be- 
wilderment, a sturdy  common-sense,  which  I trusted 
would  begin  to  operate  at  the  right  time,  and  keep 
her  from  any  actual  extravagance.  And  as  regarded 
this  matter  of  the  tombstone,  so  it  proved. 

The  interview  lasted  above  an  hour,  during  which 
she  flowed  out  freely,  as  to  the  sole  auditor,  capable 
of  any  degree  of  intelligent  sympathy,  whom  she  had 
met  with  in  a very  long  while.  Her  conversation  was 
remarkably  suggestive,  alluring  forth  one’s  own  ideas 
and  fantasies  from  the  shy  places  where  they  usually 
haunt.  She  was  indeed  an  admirable  talker,  consider- 
ing how  long  she  had  held  her  tongue  for  lack  of  a 
listener, — pleasant,  sunny,  and  shadowy,  often  piq- 
uant, and  giving  glimpses  of  all  a woman’s  various 
and  readily  changeable  moods  and  humors ; and  be- 
neath them  all  there  ran  a deep  and  powerful  under- 
current of  earnestness,  which  did  not  fail  to  produce 
in  the  listener’s  mind  something  like  a temporary  faith 
in  what  she  herself  believed  so  fervently.  But  the 
streets  of  London  are  not  favorable  to  enthusiasms  of 
this  kind,  nor,  in  fact,  are  they  likely  to  flourish  any- 
where in  the  English  atmosphere;  so  that,  long  be- 
fore reaching  Paternoster  Row,  I felt  that  it  would  be 
a difficult  and  doubtful  matter  to  advocate  the  publi- 
cation of  Miss  Bacon’s  book.  Nevertheless,  it  did 
finally  get  published. 

Months  before  that  happened,  however.  Miss  Ba- 
con had  taken  up  her  residence  at  Stratford-on-Avon, 
drawn  thither  by  the  magnetism  of  those  rich  secrets 
which  she  supposed  to  have  been  hidden  by  Raleigh, 


136  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


or  Bacon,  or  I know  not  whom,  in  Shakespeare’s 
grave,  and  protected  there  by  a curse,  as  pirates  used 
to  bury  their  gold  in  the  guardianship  of  a fiend. 
She  took  a humble  lodging  and  began  to  haunt  the 
church  like  a ghost.  But  she  did  not  condescend  to 
any  stratagem  or  underhand  attempt  to  violate  the 
grave,  which,  had  she  been  capable  of  admitting  such 
an  idea,  might  possibly  have  been  accomplished  by  the 
aid  of  a resurrection-man.  As  her  first  step,  she  made 
acquaintance  with  the  clerk,  and  began  to  sound  him 
as  to  the  feasibility  of  her  enterprise  and  his  own  will- 
ingness to  engage  in  it.  The  clerk  apparently  listened 
with  not  unfavorable  ears ; but  as  his  situation  (which 
the  fees  of  pilgrims,  more  numerous  than  at  any  Cath- 
olic shrine,  render  lucrative)  would  have  been  for- 
feited by  any  malfeasance  in  office,  he  stipulated  for 
liberty  to  consult  the  vicar.  Miss  Bacon  requested 
to  tell  her  own  story  to  the  reverend  gentleman,  and 
seems  to  have  been  received  by  him  with  the  utmost 
kindness,  and  even  to  have  succeeded  in  making  a cer- 
tain impression  on  his  mind  as  to  the  desirability  of 
the  search.  As  their  interview  had  been  under  the 
seal  of  secrecy,  he  asked  permission  to  consult  a friend, 
who,  as  Miss  Bacon  either  found  out  or  surmised,  was 
a practitioner  of  the  law.  What  the  legal  friend  ad- 
vised she  did  not  learn ; but  the  negotiation  contin- 
ued, and  certainly  was  never  broken  off  by  an  abso- 
lute refusal  on  the  vicar’s  part.  He,  perhaps,  was 
kindly  temporizing  with  our  poor  countrywoman,  whom 
an  Englishman  of  ordinary  mould  would  have  sent  to 
a lunatic  asylum  at  once.  I cannot  help  fancying, 
however,  that  her  familiarity  with  the  events  of  Shake- 
speare’s life,  and  of  his  death  and  burial  (of  which 
she  would  speak  as  if  she  had  been  present  at  the 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  137 


edge  of  the  grave),  and  all  the  history,  literature,  and 
personalities  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  together  with  the 
prevailing  power  of  her  own  belief,  and  the  eloquence 
with  which  she  knew  how  to  enforce  it,  had  really 
gone  some  little  way  toward  making  a convert  of  the 
good  clergyman.  If  so,  I honor  him  above  all  the 
hierarchy  of  England. 

The  affair  certainly  looked  very  hopeful.  However 
erroneously.  Miss  Bacon  had  understood  from  the 
vicar  that  no  obstacles  would  be  interposed  to  the  in- 
vestigation, and  that  he  himself  would  sanction  it  with 
his  presence.  It  was  to  take  place  after  nightfall; 
and  all  preliminary  arrangements  being  made,  the 
vicar  and  clerk  professed  to  wait  only  her  word  in  or- 
der to  set  about  lifting  the  awful  stone  from  the  sepul- 
chre. So,  at  least.  Miss  Bacon  believed  ; and  as  her 
bewilderment  was  entirely  in  her  own  thoughts,  and 
never  disturbed  her  perception  or  accurate  remem- 
brance of  external  things,  I see  no  reason  to  doubt  it, 
except  it  be  the  tinge  of  absurdity  in  the  fact.  But, 
in  this  apparently  prosperous  state  of  things,  her  own 
convictions  began  to  falter.  A doubt  stole  into  her 
mind  whether  she  might  not  have  mistaken  the  depos- 
itory and  mode  of  concealment  of  those  historic  treas- 
ures; and,  after  once  admitting  the  doubt,  she  was 
afraid  to  hazard  the  shock  of  uplifting  the  stone  and 
finding  nothing.  She  examined  the  surface  of  the 
gravestone,  and  endeavored,  without  stirring  it,  to  esti- 
mate whether  it  were  of  such  thickness  as  to  be  capa- 
ble of  containing  the  archives  of  the  Elizabethan  clubo 
She  went  over  anew  the  proofs,  the  clews,  the  enigmas, 
the  pregnant  sentences,  which  she  had  discovered  in 
Bacon’s  Letters  and  elsev/here,  and  now  was  frightened 
to  perceive  that  they  did  not  point  so  definitely  to 


138  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 

Shakespeare’s  tomb  as  she  had  heretofore  supposed. 
There  was  an  unmistakably  distinct  reference  to  a 
tomb,  but  it  might  be  Bacon’s,  or  Raleigh’s,  or  Spen- 
ser’s ; and  instead  of  the  ‘‘  Old  Player,”  as  she  pro- 
fanely called  him,  it  might  be  either  of  those  three 
illustrious  dead,  poet,  warrior,  or  statesman,  whose 
ashes,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  or  the  Tower  buriab 
ground,  or  wherever  they  sleep,  it  was  her  mission  to 
disturb.  It  is  very  possible,  moreover,  that  her  acute 
mind  may  always  have  had  a lurking  and  deeply 
latent  distrust  of  its  own  fantasies,  and  that  this  now 
became  strong  enough  to  restrain  her  from  a decisive 
step. 

But  she  continued  to  hover  around  the  church,  and 
seems  to  have  had  full  freedom  of  entrance  in  the  day- 
time, and  special  license,  on  one  occasion  at  least,  at  a 
late  hour  of  the  night.  She  went  thither  with  a dark- 
lantern,  which  could  but  twinkle  like  a glow-worm 
through  the  volume  of  obscurity  that  filled  the  great 
dusky  edifice.  Groping  her  way  up  the  aisle  and  to- 
wards the  chancel,  she  sat  down  on  the  elevated  part 
of  the  pavement  above  Shakespeare’s  grave.  If  the 
divine  poet  really  wrote  the  inscription  there,  and 
cared  as  much  about  the  quiet  of  his  bones  as  its  dep- 
recatory earnestness  would  imply,  it  was  time  for  those 
crumbling  relics  to  bestir  themselves  under  her  sacri- 
legious feet.  But  they  were  safe.  She  made  no  at- 
tempt to  disturb  them';  though,  I believe,  she  looked 
narrowly  into  the  crevices  between  Shakespeare’s  and 
the  two  adjacent  stones,  and  in  some  way  satisfied 
herself  that  her  single  strength  would  suffice  to  lift 
the  former,  in  case  of  need.  She  threw  the  feeble  ray 
of  her  lantern  up  towards  the  bust,  but  could  not 
make  it  visible  beneath  the  darkness  of  the  vaulted 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  139 


roof.  Had  she  been  subject  to  superstitious  terrors, 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a situation  that  could 
better  entitle  her  to  feel  them,  for,  if  Shakespeare’s 
ghost  would  rise  at  any  provocation,  it  must  have 
shown  itself  then  ; but  it  is  my  sincere  belief,  that,  if 
his  figure  had  appeared  within  the  scope  of  her  dark 
lantern,  in  his  slashed  doublet  and  gown,  and  with  his 
eyes  bent  on  her  beneath  the  high,  bald  forehead,  just 
as  we  see  him  in  the  bust,  she  would  have  met  him 
fearlessly,  and  controverted  his  claims  to  the  author- 
ship of  the  plays,  to  his  very  face.  She  had  taught 
herself  to  contemn  “ Lord  Leicester’s  groom  ” (it  was 
one  of  her  disdainful  epithets  for  the  world’s  incom- 
parable poet)  so  thoroughly,  that  even  his  disembodied 
spirit  would  hardly  have  found  civil  treatment  at  Miss 
Bacon’s  hands. 

Her  vigil,  though  it  appears  to  have  had  no  definite 
object,  continued  far  into  the  night.  Several  times 
she  heard  a low  movement  in  the  aisles  : a stealthy, 
dubious  footfall  prowling  about  in  the  darkness,  now 
here,  now  there,  among  the  pillars  and  ancient  tombs, 
as  if  some  restless  inhabitant  of  the  latter  had  crept 
forth  to  peep  at  the  intruder.  By  and  by  the  clerk 
made  his  appearance,  and  confessed  that  he  had  been 
watching  her  ever  since  she  entered  the  church. 

About  this  time  it  was  that  a strange  sort  of  weari- 
ness seems  to  have  fallen  upon  her : her  toil  was  all 
but  done,  her  great  purpose,  as  she  believed,  on  the 
very  point  of  accomplishment,  when  she  began  to  re- 
gret that  so  stupendous  a mission  had  been  imposed 
on  the  fragility  of  a woman.  Her  faith  in  the  new 
philosophy  was  as  mighty  as  ever,  and  so  was  her  con- 
fidence in  her  own  adequate  development  of  it,  now 
about  to  be  given  to  the  world  ; yet  she  wished,  or  fan- 


140  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


cied  so,  that  it  might  never  have  been  her  duty  to 
achieve  this  unparalleled  task,  and  to  stagger  feebly 
forward  under  her  immense  burden  of  responsibility 
and  renown.  So  far  as  her  personal  concern  in  the 
matter  went,  she  would  gladly  have  forfeited  the  re- 
ward of  her  patient  study  and  labor  for  so  many  years, 
her  exile  from  her  country  and  estrangement  from  her 
family  and  friends,  her  sacrifice  of  health  and  all  other 
interests  to  this  one  pursuit,  if  she  could  only  find  her- 
self free  to  dwell  in  Stratford  and  be  forgotten.  She 
liked  the  old  slumberous  town,  and  awarded  the  only 
praise  that  ever  I knew  her  to  bestow  on  Shakespeare, 
the  individual  man,  by  acknowledging  that  his  taste  in 
a residence  was  good,  and  that  he  knew  how  to  choose 
a suitable  retirement  for  a person  of  shy,  but  genial 
temperament.  And  at  this  point,  I cease  to  possess 
the  means  of  tracing  her  vicissitudes  of  feeling  any 
further.  In  consequence  of  some  advice  which  I fan- 
cied it  my  duty  to  tender,  as  being  the  only  confidant 
whom  she  now  had  in  the  world,  I fell  under  Miss  Ba- 
con’s most  severe  and  passionate  displeasure,  and  was 
cast  off  by  her  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  It  was  a 
misfortune  to  which  her  friends  were  always  particu- 
larly liable  ; but  I think  that  none  of  them  ever  loved, 
or  even  respected,  her  most  ingenuous  and  noble,  but 
likewise  most  sensitive  and  tumultuous  character,  the 
less  for  it. 

At  that  time  her  book  was  passing  through  the 
press.  Without  prejudice  to  her  literary  ability,  it 
must  be  allowed  that  Miss  Bacon  was  wholly  unfit  to 
prepare  her  own  work  for  publication,  because,  among 
many  other  reasons,  she  was  too  thoroughly  in  earnest 
to  know  what  to  leave  out.  Every  leaf  and  line  was 
sacred,  for  all  had  been  written  under  so  deep  a con- 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  141 


viction  of  truth  as  to  assume,  in  her  eyes,  the  aspect  of 
inspiration.  A practised  book-maker,  with  entire  con- 
trol of  her  materials,  would  have  shaped  out  a duodec- 
imo volume  full  of  eloquent  and  ingenious  dissertation, 
' — criticisms  which  quite  take  the  color  and  pungency 
out  of  other  people’s  critical  remarks  on  Shakespeare, 
— philosophic  truths  which  she  imagined  herself  to 
have  found  at  the  roots  of  his  conceptions,  and  which 
certainly  come  from  no  inconsiderable  depth  some- 
where. There  was  a great  amount  of  rubbish,  which 
any  competent  editor  would  have  shovelled  out  of  the 
way.  But  Miss  Bacon  thrust  the  whole  bulk  of  in- 
spiration and  nonsense  into  the  press  in  a lump,  and 
there  tumbled  out  a ponderous  octavo  volume,  which 
fell  with  a dead  thump  at  the  feet  of  the  public,  and 
has  never  been  picked  up.  A few  persons  turned  over 
one  or  two  of  the  leaves,  as  it  lay  there,  and  essayed 
to  kick  the  volume  deeper  into  the  mud  ; for  they  were 
the  hack  critics  of  the  minor  periodical  press  in  Lon- 
don, than  whom,  I suppose,  though  excellent  fellows 
in  their  way,  there  are  no  gentlemen  in  the  world  less 
sensible  of  any  sanctity  in  a book,  or  less  likely  to  rec- 
ognize an  author’s  heart  in  it,  or  more  utterly  \3areless 
about  bruising,  if  they  do  recognize  it.  It  is  their 
trade.  They  could  not  do  otherwise.  1 never  thought 
of  blaming  them.  It  was  not  for  such  an  Englishman 
as  one  of  these  to  get  beyond  the  idea  that  an  assault 
was  meditated  on  England’s  greatest  poet.  From  the 
scholars  and  critics  of  her  own  country,  indeed.  Miss 
Bacon  might  have  looked  for  a worthier  appreciation, 
because  many  of  the  best  of  them  have  higher  cultiva- 
tion, and  finer  and  deeper  literary  sensibilities  than  all 
but  the  very  profoundest  and  brightest  of  Englishmen. 
But  they  are  not  a courageous  body  of  men  ; they  dare 


142  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


not  think  a truth  that  has  an  odor  of  absurdity,  lest 
they  should  feel  themselves  bound  to  speak  it  out.  If 
any  American  ever  wrote  a word  in  her  behalf,  Miss 
Bacon  never  knew  it,  nor  did  I.  Our  journalists  at 
once  republished  some  of  the  most  brutal  vituperations 
of  the  English  press,  thus  pelting  their  poor  country- 
woman with  stolen  mud,  without  even  waiting  to  know 
whether  the  ignominy  was  deserved.  And  they  never 
have  known  it,  to  this  day,  nor  ever  will. 

The  next  intelligence  that  I had  of  Miss  Bacon  was 
by  a letter  from  the  mayor  of  Stratford-on-Avon.  He 
was  a medical  man,  and  wrote  both  in  his  official  and 
professional  character,  telling  me  that  an  American 
lady,  who  had  recently  published  what  the  mayor 
called  a “ Shakespeare  book,”  was  afflicted  with  insan- 
ity. In  a lucid  interval  she  had  referred  to  me,  as 
a person  who  had  some  knowledge  of  her  family  and 
affairs.  What  she  may  have  suffered  before  her  in- 
tellect gave  way,  we  had  better  not  try  to  imagine. 
No  author  had  ever  hoped  so  confidently  as  she ; none 
ever  failed  more  utterly.  A superstitious  fancy  might 
suggest  that  the  anathema  on  Shakespeare’s  tombstone 
had  fallen  heavily  on  her  head,  in  requital  of  even  the 
unaccomplished  purpose  of  disturbing  the  dust  be- 
neath, and  that  the  Old  Player  ” had  kept  so  quietly 
in  his  grave,  on  the  night  of  her  vigil,  because  he  fore- 
saw how  soon  and  terribly  he  would  be  avenged.  But 
if  that  benign  spirit  takes  any  care  or  cognizance  of 
such  things  now,  he  has  surely  requited  the  injustice 
that  she  sought  to  do  him  — the  high  justice  that  she 
really  did  — by  a tenderness  of  love  and  pity  of  which 
only  he  could  he  capable.  What  matters  it  though 
she  called  him  by  some  other  name  ? He  had  wrought 
a greater  miracle  on  her  than  on  all  the  world  besides. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  143 


This  bewildered  enthusiast  had  recognized  a depth  in 
the  man  whom  she  decried,  which  scholars,  critics,  and 
learned  societies,  devoted  to  the  elucidation  of  his  un- 
rivalled scenes,  had  never  imagined  to  exist  there. 
She  had  paid  him  the  loftiest  honor  that  all  these  ages 
of  renown  have  been  able  to  accumulate  upon  his 
memory.  And  when,  not  many  months  after  the  out- 
ward failure  of  her  lifelong  object,  she  passed  into  the 
better  world,  I know  not  why  we  should  hesitate  to  be- 
lieve that  the  immortal  poet  may  have  met  her  on  the 
threshold  and  led  her  in,  reassuring  her  with  friendly 
and  comfortable  words,  and  thanking  her  (yet  with  a 
smile  of  gentle  humor  in  his  eyes  at  the  thought  of 
certain  mistaken  speculations)  for  having  interpreted 
him  to  mankind  so  well. 

I believe  that  it  has  been  the  fate  of  this  remarkable 
book  never  to  have  had  more  than  a single  reader.  I 
myself  am  acquainted  with  it  only  in  insulated  chap- 
ters and  scattered  pages  and  paragraphs.  But,  since 
my  return  to  America,  a young  man  of  genius  and 
enthusiasm  has  assured  me  that  he  has  positively  read 
the  book  from  beginning  to  end,  and  is  completely  a 
convert  to  its  doctrines.  It  belongs  to  him,  therefore, 
and  not  to  me,  — whom,  in  almost  the  last  letter  that 
I received  from  her,  she  declared  unworthy  to  meddle 
with  her  work,  — it  belongs  surely  to  this  one  indi- 
vidual, who  has  done  her  so  much  justice  as  to  know 
what  she  wrote,  to  place  Miss  Bacon  in  her  due  posi- 
tion before  the  public  and  posterity. 

This  has  been  too  sad  a story.  To  lighten  the  rec- 
ollection of  it,  I will  think  of  my  stroll  homeward  past 
Charlecote  Park,  where  I beheld  the  most  stately  elms, 
singly,  in  clumps,  and  in  groves,  scattered  all  about 
in  the  sunniest,  shadiest,  sleepiest  fashion  ; so  that  I 


144  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN. 


could  not  but  believe  in  lengthened,  loitering,  drowsy 
enjoyment  which  these  trees  must  have  in  their  ex- 
istence. Diffused  over  slow-paced  centuries,  it  need 
not  be  keen  nor  bubble  into  thrills  and  ecstasies,  like 
the  momentary  delights  of  short-lived  human  beings. 
They  were  civilized  trees,  known  to  man,  and  be- 
friended by  him  for  ages  past.  There  is  an  indescrib^ 
able  difference  — as  1 believe  I have  heretofore  en- 
deavored to  express  — between  the  tamed,  but  by  no 
means  effete  (on  the  contrary,  the  richer  and  more 
luxuriant),  nature  of  England,  and  the  rude,  shaggy, 
barbarous  nature  which  offers  us  its  racier  companion- 
ship in  America.  No  less  a change  has  been  wrought 
among  the  wildest  creatures  that  inhabit  what  the 
English  call  their  forests.  By  and  by,  among  those 
refined  and  venerable  trees,  I saw  a large  herd  of  deer, 
mostly  reclining,  but  some  standing  in  picturesque 
groups,  while  the  stags  threw  their  large  antlers  aloft, 
as  if  they  had  been  taught  to  make  themselves  tribu- 
tary to  the  scenic  effect.  Some  were  running  fleetly 
about,  vanishing  from  light  into  shadow  and  glancing 
forth  again,  with  here  and  there  a little  fawn  career- 
ing at  its  mother’s  heels.  These  deer  are  almost  in 
the  same  relation  to  the  wild,  natural  state  of  their 
kind  that  the  trees  of  an  English  park  hold  to  the 
rugged  growth  of  an  American  forest.  They  have 
held  a certain  intercourse,  with  man  for  immemorial 
years  ; and,  most  probably,  the  stag  that  Shakespeare 
killed  was  one  of  the  progenitors  of  this  very  herd, 
and  may  himself  have  been  a partly  civilized  and  hu- 
manized deer,  though  in  a less  degree  than  these  re- 
mote posterity.  They  are  a little  wilder  than  sheep, 
but  they  do  not  snuff  the  air  at  the  approach  of  hu- 
man beings,  nor  evince  much  alarm  at  their  pretty 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN,  145 


close  proximity ; although  if  you  continue  to  advance, 
they  toss  their  heads  and  take  to  their  heels  in  a kind 
of  mimic  terror,  or  something  akin  to  feminine  skit- 
tishness, with  a dim  remembrance  or  tradition,  as  it 
were,  of  their  having  come  of  a wild  stock.  They 
have  so  long  been  fed  and  protected  by  man,  that 
they  must  have  lost  many  of  their  native  instincts, 
and,  I suppose,  could  not  live  comfortably  through 
even  an  English  winter  without  human  help.  One  is 
sensible  of  a gentle  scorn  at  them  for  such  depen- 
dency, but  feels  none  the  less  kindly  disposed  towards 
the  half-domesticated  race ; and  it  may  have  been  his 
. observation  of  these  tamer  characteristics  in  the  Char- 
lecote  herd  that  suggested  to  Shakespeare  the  tender 
and  pitiful  description  of  a wounded  stag,  in  As  You 
Like  It.” 

At  a distance  of  some  hundreds  of  yards  from 
Charlecote  Hall,  and  almost  hidden  by  the  trees  be- 
tween it  and  the  roadside,  is  an  old  brick  archway 
and  porter’s  lodge.  In  connection  with  this  entrance 
there  appears  to  have  been  a wall  and  an  ancient 
moat,  the  latter  of  which  is  still  visible,  a shallow, 
grassy  scoop  along  the  base  of  an  embankment  of  the 
lawn.  About  fifty  yards  within  the  gateway  stands 
the  house,  forming  three  sides  of  a square,  with  three 
gables  in  a row  on  the  front,  and  on  each  of  the  two 
wings  ; and  there  are  several  towers  and  turrets  at  the 
angles,  together  with  projecting  windows,  antique  bal- 
conies, and  other  quaint  ornaments  suitable  to  the  half- 
Gothic  taste  in  which  the  edifice  was  built.  Over  the 
gateway  is  the  Lucy  coat  of  arms,  emblazoned  in  its 
proper  colors.  The  mansion  dates  from  the  early 
days  of  Elizabeth,  and  probably  looked  very  much 
the  same  as  now  when  Shakespeare  was  brought  be- 

VOL.  VII.  10 


146  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN, 

fore  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  for  outrages  among  his  deer. 
The  impression  is  not  that  of  gray  antiquity,  but  of 
stable  and  time-honored  gentility,  still  as  vital  as  ever. 

It  is  a most  delightful  place.  All  about  the  house 
and  domain  there  is  a perfection  of  comfort  and  do- 
mestic taste,  an  amplitude  of  convenience,  which  could 
have  been  brought  about  only  by  the  slow  ingenuity 
and  labor  of  many  successive  generations,  intent  upon 
adding  all  possible  improvement  to  the  home  where 
years  gone  by  and  years  to  come  give  a sort  of  per- 
manence to  the  intangible  present.  An  American  is 
sometimes  tempted  to  fancy  that  only  by  this  long 
process  can  real  homes  be  produced.  One  man’s  life* 
time  is  not  enough  for  the  accomplishment  of  such  a 
work  of  art  and  nature,  almost  the  greatest  merely 
temporary  one  that  is  confided  to  him  ; too  little,  at 
any  rate,  — yet  perhaps  too  long  when  he  is  discour- 
aged by  the  idea  that  he  must  make  his  house  warm 
and  delightful  for  a miscellaneous  race  of  successors, 
of  whom  the  one  thing  certain  is,  that  his  own  grand- 
children will  not  be  among  them.  Such  repinings  as 
are  here  suggested,  however,  come  only  from  the  fact, 
that,  bred  in  English  habits  of  thought,  as  most  of  us 
are,  we  have  not  yet  modified  our  instincts  to  the 
necessities  of  our  new  forms  of  life.  A lodging  in  a 
wigwam  or  under  a tent  has  really  as  many  advan- 
tages, when  we  come  to  know  them,  as  a home  beneath 
the  roof-tree  of  Cliarlecote  Hall.  But,  alas  ! our  phi- 
losophers have  not  yet  taught  us  what  is  best,  nor  have 
our  poets  sung  us  what  is  beautifullest,  in  the  kind  of 
life  that  we  must  lead;  and  therefore  we  still  read 
the  old  English  wisdom,  and  harp  upon  the  ancient 
strings.  And  thence  it  happens,  that,  when  we  look 
at  a time-honored  hall,  it  seems  more  possible  for  men 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A GIFTED  WOMAN.  147 

who  inherit  such  a home,  than  for  ourselves,  to  lead 
noble  and  graceful  lives,  quietly  doing  good  and  lovely 
things  as  their  daily  work,  and  achieving  deeds  of 
simple  greatness  when  circumstances  require  them.  I 
sometimes  apprehend  that  our  institutions  may  perish 
before  we  shall  have  discovered  the  most  precious  of 
the  possibilities  which  they  involve. 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


After  my  first  visit  to  Leamington  Spa,  I went  by 
an  indirect  route  to  Lichfield,  and  put  up  at  the  Black 
Swan.  Had  I known  where  to  find  it,  I would,  much 
rather  have  established  myself  at  the  inn  formerly 
kept  by  the  worthy  Mr.  Boniface,  so  famous  for  his 
ale  in  Farquhar’s  time.  The  Black  Swan  is  an  old- 
fashioned  hotel,  its  street-front  being  penetrated  by  an 
arched  passage,  in  either  side  of  which  is  an  entrance- 
door  to  the  different  parts  of  the  house,  and  through 
which,  and  over  the  large  stones  of  its  pavement,  all 
vehicles  and  horsemen  rumble  and  clatter  into  an  en- 
closed court-yard,  with  a thunderous  uproar  among  the 
contiguous  rooms  and  chambers.  I appeared  to  be 
the  only  guest  of  the  spacious  establishment,  but  may 
have  had  a few  fellow-lodgers  hidden  in  their  separate 
parlors,  and  utterly  eschewing  that  community  of  in- 
terests which  is  the  characteristic  feature  of  life  in  an 
American  hotel.  At  any  rate,  I had  the  great,  dull, 
dingy,  and  dreary  coffee-room,  with  its  heavy  old  ma- 
hogany chairs  and  tables,  all  to  myself,  and  not  a 
soul  to  exchange  a word  with,  except  the  waiter,  who, 
like  most  of  his  class  in  England,  had  evidently  left 
his  conversational  abilities  uncultivated.  No  former 
practice  of  solitary  living,  nor  habits  of  reticence,  nor 
well-tested  self-dependence  for  occupation  of  mind  and 
amusement,  can  quite  avail,  as  I now  proved,  to  dissi- 
pate the  ponderous  gloom  of  an  English  coffee-room 
under  such  circumstances  as  these,  with  no  book  at 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


149 


hand  save  the  county-directory,  nor  any  newspaper 
but  a torn  local  journal  of  five  days  ago.  So  I buried 
myself,  betimes,  in  a huge  heap  of  ancient  feathers 
(there  is  no  other  kind  of  bed  in  these  old  inns),  let 
my  head  sink  into  an  unsubstantial  pillow,  and  slept 
a stifled  sleep,  infested  with  such  a fragmentary  con- 
fusion of  dreams  that  I took  them  to  be  a medley, 
compounded  of  the  night-troubles  of  all  my  prede- 
cessors in  that  same  unrestful  couch.  And  when  I 
awoke,  the  musty  odor  of  a by-gone  century  was  in  my 
nostrils,  — a faint,  elusive  smell,  of  which  I never  had 
any  conception  before  crossing  the  Atlantic. 

In  the  morning,  after  a mutton-chop  and  a cup  of 
chiccory  in  the  dusky  coffee-room,  I went  forth  and 
bewildered  myself  a little  while  among  the  crooked 
streets,  in  quest  of  one  or  two  objects  that  had  chiefly 
attracted  me  to  the  spot.  The  city  is  of  very  ancient 
date,  and  its  name  in  the  old  Saxon  tongue  has  a dis- 
mal import  that  would  apply  well,  in  these  days  and 
forever  henceforward,  to  many  an  unhappy  locality  in 
our  native  land.  Lichfield  signifies  The  Field  of  the 
Dead  Bodies,’'  — an  epithet,  however,  which  the  town 
did  not  assume  in  remembrance  of  a battle,  but  which 
probably  sprung  up  by  a natural  process,  like  a sprig 
of  rue  or  other  funereal  weed,  out  of  the  graves  of  two 
princely  brothers,  sons  of  a pagan  king  of  Mercia, 
who  were  converted  by  St.  Chad,  and  afterwards  mar- 
tyred for  their  Christian  faith.  Nevertheless,  I was 
but  little  interested  in  the  legends  of  the  remote  an- 
tiquity of  Lichfield,  being  drawn  thither  partly  to  see 
its  beautiful  cathedral,  and  still  more,  I believe,  be- 
cause it  was  the  birthplace  of  Dr.  J ohnson,  with  whose 
sturdy  English  character  I became  acquainted,  at  a 
very  early  period  of  my  life,  through  the  good  offices 


150 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


of  Mr.  Boswell.  In  truth,  he  seems  as  familiar  to  my 
recollection,  and  almost  as  vivid  in  his  personal  as- 
pect to  my  mind’s  eye,  as  the  kindly  figure  of  my  own 
grandfather.  It  is  only  a solitary  child,  — left  much 
to  such  wild  modes  of  culture  as  he  chooses  for  him- 
self while  yet  ignorant  what  culture  means,  standing 
on  tiptoe  to  pull  down  books  from  no  very  lofty  shelf, 
and  then  shutting  himself  up,  as  it  were,  between  the 
leaves,  going  astray  through  the  volume  at  his  own 
pleasure,  and  comprehending  it  rather  by  his  sensibil- 
ities and  affections  than  his  intellect,  — that  child  is 
the  only  student  that  ever  gets  the  sort  of  intimacy 
which  I am  now  thinking  of,  with  a literary  personage. 
I do  not  remember,  indeed,  ever  caring  much  about 
any  of  the  stalwart  Doctor’s  grandiloquent  productions, 
except  his  two  stern  and  masculine  poems,  ^‘London,” 
and  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  ; ” it  was  as  a 
man,  a talker,  and  a humorist,  that  I knew  and  loved 
him,  appreciating  many  of  his  qualities  perhaps  more 
thoroughly  than  I do  now,  though  never  seeking  to 
put  my  instinctive  perception  of  his  character  into 
language. 

Beyond  all  question,  I might  have  had  a wiser 
friend  than  he.  The  atmosphere  in  which  alone  he 
breathed  was  dense  ; his  awful  dread  of  death  showed 
how  much  muddy  imperfection  was  to  be  cleansed  out 
of  him,  before  he  could  be  capable  of  spiritual  exist- 
ence; he  meddled  only  with  the  surface  of  life,  and 
never  cared  to  penetrate  further  than  to  ploughshare 
depth ; his  very  sense  and  sagacity  were  but  a one-eyed 
clear-sightedness.  I laughed  at  him,  sometimes,  stand- 
ing beside  his  knee.  And  yet,  considering  that  my  na- 
tive propensities  were  towards  Fairy  Land,  and  also 
how  much  yeast  is  generally  mixed  up  with  the  mental 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER, 


151 


sustenance  of  a New-Englander,  it  may  not  have  been 
altogether  amiss,  in  those  childish  and  boyish  days,  to 
keep  pace  with  this  heavy-footed  traveller,  and  feed  on 
the  gross  diet  that  he  carried  in  his  knapsack.  It  is 
wholesome  food  even  now.  And,  then,  how  English  ! 
Many  of  the  latent  sympathies  that  enabled  me  to  en- 
joy the  Old  Country  so  well,  and  that  so  readily  amal- 
gamated themselves  with  the  American  ideas  that 
seemed  most  adverse  to  them,  may  have  been  derived 
from,  or  fostered  and  kept  alive  by,  the  great  English 
moralist.  Never  was  a descriptive  epithet  more  nicely 
appropriate  than  that!  Dr.  Johnson’s  morality  was 
as  English  an  article  as  a beefsteak. 

The  city  of  Lichfield  (only  the  cathedral-towns  are 
called  cities  in  England)  stands  on  an  ascending  site. 
It  has  not  so  many  old  gabled  houses  as  Coventry, 
for  example,  but  still  enough  to  gratify  an  American 
appetite  for  the  antiquities  of  domestic  architecture. 
The  people,  too,  have  an  old-fashioned  way  with  them, 
and  stare  at  the  passing  visitor,  as  if  the  railway 
had  not  yet  quite  accustomed  them  to  the  novelty  of 
strange  faces  moving  along  their  ancient  sidewalks. 
The  old  women  whom  I met,  in  several  instances, 
dropt  me  a courtesy ; and  as  they  were  of  decent  and 
comfortable  exterior,  and  kept  quietly  on  their  way 
without  pause  or  further  greeting,  it  certainly  was  not 
allowable  to  interpret  their  little  act  of  respect  as  a 
modest  method  of  asking  for  sixpence ; so  that  I had 
the  pleasure  of  considering  it  a remnant  of  the  rev- 
erential and  hospitable  manners  of  elder  times,  when 
the  rare  presence  of  a stranger  might  be  deemed  worth 
a general  acknowledgment.  Positively,  coming  from 
such  humble  sources,  I took  it  all  the  more  as  a wel- 
come on  behalf  of  the  inhabitants,  and  would  not  have 


152 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


exchanged  it  for  an  invitation  from  the  mayor  and 
magistrates  to  a public  dinner.  Yet  I wish,  merely 
for  the  experiment’s  sake,  that  I could  have  embold- 
ened myself  to  hold  out  the  aforesaid  sixpence  to  at 
least  one  of  the  old  ladies. 

In  my  wanderings  about  town,  I came  to  an  artifi- 
cial piece  of  water,  called  the  Minster  Pool.  It  fills 
the  immense  cavity  in  a ledge  of  rock,  whence  the 
building-materials  of  the  cathedral  were  quarried  out 
a great  many  centuries  ago.  I should  never  have 
guessed  the  little  lake  to  be  of  man’s  creation,  so  very 
pretty  and  quietly  picturesque  an  object  has  it  grown 
to  be,  with  its  green  banks,  and  the  old  trees  hanging 
over  its  glassy  surface,  in  which  you  may  see  refiected 
some  of  the  battlements  of  the  majestic  structure  that 
once  lay  here  in  unshaped  stone.  Some  little  children 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  Pool,  angling  with  pin-hooks ; 
and  the  scene  reminded  me  (though  really,  to  be  quite 
fair  with  the  reader,  the  gist  of  the  analogy  has  now 
escaped  me)  of  that  mysterious  lake  in  the  Arabian 
Nights,  which  had  once  been  a palace  and  a city,  and 
where  a fisherman  used  to  pull  out  the  former  inhabi- 
tants in  the  guise  of  enchanted  fishes.  There  is  no 
need  of  fanciful  associations  to  make  the  spot  interest- 
ing. It  was  in  the  porch  of  one  of  the  houses,  in  the 
street  that  runs  beside  the  Minster  Pool,  that  Lord 
Brooke  was  slain,  in  the  time  of  the  Parliamentary 
war,  by  a shot  from  the  battlements  of  the  cathedral, 
which  was  then  held  by  the  Royalists  as  a fortress. 
The  incident  is  commemorated  by  an  inscription  on  a 
stone,  inlaid  into  the  wall  of  the  house. 

I know  not  what  rank  the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield 
holds  among  its  sister  edifices  in  England,  as  a piece 
of  magnificent  architecture.  Except  that  of  Chester 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


153 


(the  grim  and  simple  nave  of  which  stands  yet  unri- 
valled in  my  memory),  and  one  or  two  small  ones  in 
North  Wales,  hardly  worthy  of  the  name  of  cathe- 
drals, it  was  the  first  that  I had  seen.  To  my  unin- 
structed vision,  it  seemed  the  object  best  worth  gaz- 
ing at  in  the  whole  world  ; and  now,  after  beholding 
a great  many  more,  I remember  it  with  less  prodigal 
admiration  only  because  others  are  as  magnificent  as 
itself.  The  traces  remaining  in  my  memory  represent 
it  as  airy  rather  than  massive.  A multitude  of  beau- 
tiful shapes  appeared  to  be  comprehended  within  its 
single  outline  ; it  was  a kind  of  kaleidoscopic  mys- 
tery so  rich  a variety  of  aspects  did  it  assume  from 
each  altered  point  of  view,  through  the  presentation 
of  a different  face,  and  the  rearrangement  of  its  peaks 
and  pinnacles  and  the  three  battlemented  towers,  with 
the  spires  that  shot  heavenward  from  all  three,  but 
one  loftier  than  its  fellows.  Thus  it  impressed  you, 
at  every  change,  as  a newly  created  structure  of  the 
passing  moment,  in  which  yet  you  lovingly  recognized 
the  half-vanished  structure  of  the  instant  before,  and 
felt,  moreover,  a joyful  faith  in  the  indestructible  ex- 
istence of  all  this  cloudlike  vicissitude.  A Gothic  ca- 
thedral is  surely  the  most  wonderful  work  which  mor- 
tal man  has  yet  achieved,  so  vast,  so  intricate,  and  so 
profoundly  simple,  with  such  strange,  delightful  re- 
cesses in  its  grand  figure,  so  difficult  to  comprehend 
within  one  idea,  and  yet  all  so  consonant  that  it  ulti- 
mately draws  the  beholder  and  his  universe  into  its 
harmony.  It  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  is 
vast  enough  and  rich  enough. 

Not  that  I felt,  or  was  worthy  to  feel,  an  unmingled 
enjoyment  in  gazing  at  this  wonder.  I could  not  ele- 
vate myseff  to  its  spiritual  height,  any  more  than  1 


154 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


could  have  climbed  from  the  ground  to  the  summit  of 
one  of  its  pinnacles.  Ascending  but  a little  way,  I 
continually  fell  back  and  lay  in  a kind  of  despair, 
conscious  that  a flood  of  uncomprehended  beauty  was 
pouring  down  upon  me,  of  which  I could  appropriate 
only  the  minutest  portion.  After  a hundred  years, 
incalculably  as  my  higher  sympathies  might  be  invig- 
orated by  so  divine  an  employment,  I should  still  be  a 
gazer  from  below  and  at  an  awful  distance,  as  yet  re- 
motely excluded  from  the  interior  mystery.  But  it 
was  something  gained,  even  to  have  that  painful  sense 
of  my  own  limitations,  and  that  half-smothered  yearn- 
ing to  soar  beyond  them.  The  cathedral  showed  me 
how  earthly  I was,  but  yet  whispered  deeply  of  im- 
mortality. After  all,  this  was  probably  the  best  les- 
son that  it  could  bestow,  and,  taking  it  as  thoroughly 
as  possible  home  to  my  heart,  I was  fain  to  be  con- 
tent. If  the  truth  must  be  told,  my  ill-trained  enthu- 
siasm soon  flagged,  and  I began  to  lose  the  vision  of 
a spiritual  or  ideal  edifice  behind  the  time-worn  and 
weather-stained  front  of  the  actual  structure.  When- 
ever that  is  the  case,  it  is  most  reverential  to  look 
another  way ; but  the  mood  disposes  one  to  minute 
investigation,  and  I took  advantage  of  it  to  examine 
the  intricate  and  multitudinous  adornment  that  was 
lavished  on  the  exterior  wall  of  this  great  church. 
Everywhere,  there  were  empty  niches  where  statues 
bad  been  thrown  down,  and  here  and  there  a statue 
still  lingered  in  its  niche ; and  over  the  chief  entrance, 
and  extending  across  the  whole  breadth  of  the  build- 
ing, was  a row  of  angels,  sainted  personages,  martyrs, 
and  kings,  sculptured  in  reddish  stone.  Being  much 
corroded  by  the  moist  English  atmosphere,  during 
four  or  five  hundred  winters  that  they  had  stood  there, 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER, 


155 


these  benign  and  majestic  figures  perversely  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  appearance  of  a sugar  image,  after  a 
child  has  been  holding  it  in  his  mouth.  The  vener- 
able infant  Time  has  evidently  found  them  sweet 
morsels. 

Inside  of  the  Minster  there  is  a long  and  lofty  nave, 
transepts  of  the  same  height,  and  side-aisles  and  chap- 
els, dim  nooks  of  holiness,  where  in  Catholic  times  the 
lamps  were  continually  burning  before  the  richly  dec- 
orated shrines  of  saints.  In  the  audacity  of  my  igno- 
rance, as  I humbly  acknowledge  it  to  have  been,  I 
criticised  this  great  interior  as  too  much  broken  into 
compartments,  and  shorn  of  half  its  rightful  impres- 
siveness by  the  interposition  of  a screen  betwixt  the 
nave  and  chancel.  It  did  not  spread  itself  in  breadth, 
but  ascended  to  the  roof  in  lofty  narrowness.  One 
large  body  of  worshippers  might  have  knelt  down  in 
the  nave,  others  in  each  of  the  transepts,  and  smaller 
ones  in  the  side-aisles,  besides  an  indefinite  number  of 
esoteric  enthusiasts  in  the  mysterious  sanctities  beyond 
the  screen.  Thus  it  seemed  to  typify  the  exclusiveness 
of  sects,  rather  than  the  world-wide  hospitality  of  gen- 
uine religion.  I had  imagined  a cathedral  with  a scope 
more  vast.  These  Gothic  aisles,  with  their  groined 
arches  overhead,  supported  by  clustered  pillars  in  long 
vistas  up  and  down,  were  venerable  and  magnificent, 
but  included  too  much  of  the  twilight  of  that  monkish 
gloom  out  of  which  they  grew.  It  is  no  matter  whether 
I ever  came  to  a more  satisfactory  appreciation  of  this 
kind  of  architecture ; the  only  value  of  my  strictures 
being  to  show  the  folly  of  looking  at  noble  objects  in 
the  wrong  mood,  and  the  absurdity  of  a new  visitant 
pretending  to  hold  any  opinion  whatever  on  such  sub- 
jects, instead  of  surrendering  himself  to  the  old  build' 
er’s  infiuence  with  childlike  simplicity. 


156 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


A great  deal  of  white  marble  decorates  the  old  stone- 
work of  the  aisles,  in  the  shape  of  altars,  obelisks,  sar- 
cophagi, and  busts.  Most  of  these  memorials  are  com- 
memorative of  people  locally  distinguished,  especially 
the  deans  and  canons  of  the  Cathedral,  with  their  rel- 
atives and  families  ; and  I found  but  two  monuments 
of  personages  whom  I had  ever  heard  of,  — one  being 
Gilbert  Walmesley  and  the  other  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  a literary  acquaintance  of  my  boyhood.  It 
was  really  pleasant  to  meet  her  there;  for  after  a friend 
has  lain  in  the  grave  far  into  the  second  century,  she 
would  be  unreasonable  to  require  any  melancholy  emo- 
tions in  a chance  interview  at  her  tombstone.  It  adds 
a rich  charm  to  sacred  edifices,  this  time-honored  cus- 
tom of  burial  in  churches,  after  a few  years,  at  least, 
when  the  mortal  remains  have  turned  to  dust  beneath 
the  pavement,  and  the  quaint  devices  and  inscriptions 
still  speak  to  you  above.  The  statues,  that  stood  or 
reclined  in  several  recesses  of  the  Cathedral,  had  a 
kind  of  life,  and  I regarded  them  with  an  odd  sort  of 
deference,  as  if  they  were  privileged  denizens  of  the 
precinct.  It  was  singular,  too,  how  the  memorial  of 
the  latest  buried  person,  the  man  whose  features  were 
familiar  in  the  streets  of  Lichfield  only  yesterday, 
seemed  precisely  as  much  at  home  here  as  his  mediae- 
val predecessors.  Henceforward  he  belonged  to  the 
Cathedral  like  one  of  its  original  pillars.  Methought 
this  impression  in  my  fancy  might  be  the  shadow  of  a 
spiritual  fact.  The  dying  melt  into  the  great  multh 
tude  of  the  Departed  as  quietly  as  a drop  of  water 
into  the  ocean,  and,  it  may  be,  are  conscious  of  no  urn 
familiarity  with  their  new  circumstances,  but  immedb 
ately  become  aware  of  an  insufferable  strangeness  in 
the  world  which  they  have  quitted.  Death  has  not 
taken  them  away,  but  brought  them  home. 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


157 


The  vicissitudes  and  mischances  of  sublunary  af- 
fairs, however,  have  not  ceased  to  attend  upon  these 
marble  inhabitants  ; for  I saw  the  upper  fragment  of 
a sculptured  lady,  in  a very  old-fashioned  garb,  the 
lower  half  of  whom  had  doubtless  been  demolished  by 
Cromwell’s  soldiers  when  they  took  the  Minster  by 
storm.  And  there  lies  the  remnant  of  this  devout  lady 
on  her  slab,  ever  since  the  outrage,  as  for  centuries 
before,  with  a countenance  of  divine  serenity,  and  her 
hands  clasped  in  prayer,  symbolizing  a depth  of  relig- 
ious faith  which  no  earthly  turmoil  or  calamity  could 
disturb.  Another  piece  of  sculpture  (apparently  a fa- 
vorite subject  in  the  Middle  Ages,  for  I have  seen  sev- 
eral like  it  in  other  cathedrals)  was  a reclining  skele- 
ton, as  faithfully  representing  an  open-work  of  bones 
as  could  well  be  expected  in  a solid  block  of  marble, 
and  at  a period,  moreover,  when  the  mysteries  of  the 
human  frame  were  rather  to  be  guessed  at  than  re- 
vealed. Whatever  the  anatomical  defects  of  his  pro- 
duction, the  old  sculptor  had  succeeded  in  making  it 
ghastly  beyond  measure.  How  much  mischief  has 
been  wrought  upon  us  by  this  invariable  gloom  of  the 
Gothic  imagination ; flinging  itself  like  a death-scented 
pall  over  our  conceptions  of  the  future  state,  smother- 
ing our  hopes,  hiding  our  sky,  and  inducing  dismal  ef- 
forts to  raise  the  harvest  of  immortality  out  of  what  is 
most  opposite  to  it,  — the  grave  ! 

The  cathedral  service  is  performed  twice  every  day  s 
at  ten  o’clock  and  at  four.  When  I first  entered,  the 
choristers  (young  and  old,  but  mostly,  I think,  boys, 
with  voices  inexpressibly  sweet  and  clear,  and  as  fresh 
as  bird-notes)  were  just  winding  up  their  harmonious 
labors,  and  soon  came  thronging  through  a side-door 
from  the  chancel  into  the  nave.  They  were  all  dressed 


158 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETEIl. 


in  long  white  robes,  and  looked  like  a peculiar  order  of 
beings,  created  on  purpose  to  hover  between  the  roof 
and  pavement  of  that  dim,  consecrated  edifice,  and  il- 
luminate it  with  divine  melodies,  reposing  themselves, 
meanwhile,  on  the  heavy  grandeur  of  the  organ-tones 
like  cherubs  on  a golden  cloud.  All  at  once,  however, 
one  of  the  cherubic  multitude  pulled  off  his  white 
gown,  thus  transforming  himself  before  my  very  eyes 
into  a commonplace  youth  of  the  day,  in  modern  frock- 
coat  and  trousers  of  a decidedly  provincial  cut.  This 
absurd  little  incident,  I verily  believe,  had  a sinister 
effect  in  putting  me  at  odds  with  the  proper  influences 
of  the  Cathedral,  nor  could  I quite  recover  a suitable 
frame  of  mind  during  my  stay  there.  But,  emerging 
into  the  open  air,  I began  to  be  sensible  that  I had 
left  a magnificent  interior  behind  me,  and  I have  never 
quite  lost  the  perception  and  enjoyment  of  it  in  these 
intervening  years. 

A large  space  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the 
Cathedral  is  called  the  Close,  and  comprises  beauti- 
fully kept  lawns  and  a shadowy  walk  bordered  by  the 
dwellings  of  the  ecclesiastical  dignitaries  of  the  dio- 
cese. All  this  row  of  episcopal,  canonical,  and  cler- 
ical residences  has  an  air  of  the  deepest  quiet,  repose, 
and  well-protected  though  not  inaccessible  seclusion. 
They  seemed  capable  of  including  everything  that  a 
saint  could  desire,  and  a great  many  more  things  than 
most  of  us  sinners  generally  succeed  in  acquiring. 
Their  most  marked  feature  is  a dignified  comfort, 
looking  as  if  no  disturbance  or  vulgar  intrusiveness 
could  ever  cross  their  thresholds,  encroach  upon  their 
ornamented  lawns,  or  straggle  into  the  beautiful  gar- 
dens that  surround  them  with  flower-beds  and  rich 
clumps  of  shrubbery.  The  episcopal  palace  is  a stately 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


159 


mansion  of  stone,  built  somewhat  in  the  Italian  style, 
and  bearing  on  its  front  the  figures  1687,  as  the  date 
of  its  erection.  A large  edifice  of  brick,  which,  if  I 
remember,  stood  next  to  the  palace,  1 took  to  be  the 
residence  of  the  second  dignitary  of  the  Cathedral ; 
and,  imthat  case,  it  must  have  been  the  youthful 
home  of  Addison,  whose  father  was  Dean  of  Lich- 
field. I tried  to  fancy  his  figure  on  the  delightful 
walk  that  extends  in  front  of  those  priestly  abodes, 
from  which  and  the  interior  lawns  it  is  separated  by 
an  open-work  iron  fence,  lined  with  rich  old  shrub- 
bery, and  overarched  by  a minster-aisle  of  venerable 
trees.  This  path  is  haunted  by  the  shades  of  famous 
personages  who  have  formerly  trodden  it.  Johnson 
must  have  been  familiar  with  it,  both  as  a boy,  and 
in  his  subsequent  visits  to  Lichfield,  an  illustrious  old 
man.  Miss  Seward,  connected  with  so  many  literary 
reminiscences,  lived  in  one  of  the  adjacent  houses. 
Tradition  says  that  it  was  a favorite  spot  of  Major 
Andre,  who  used  to  pace  to  and  fro  under  these  trees, 
waiting,  perhaps,  to  catch  a last  angel-glimpse  of  Ho- 
noria  Sneyd,  before  he  crossed  the  ocean  to  encoun- 
ter his  dismal  doom  from  an  American  court-martial. 
David  Garrick,  no  doubt,  scampered  along  the  path 
in  his  boyish  days,  and,  if  he  was  an  early  student  of 
the  drama,  must  often  have  thought  of  those  two  airy 
characters  of  the  “ Beaux’  Stratagem,”  Archer  and 
Aimwell,  who,  on  this  very  ground,  after  attending 
service  at  the  Cathedral,  contrive  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  the  ladies  of  the  comedy.  These  creatures 
of  mere  fiction  have  as  positive  a substance  now  as 
the  sturdy  old  figure  of  Johnson  himself.  They  live, 
while  realities  have  died.  The  shadowy  walk  still 
glistens  with  their  gold-embroidered  memories. 


160 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


Seeking  for  Johnson’s  birthplace,  I found  it  in  St. 
Mary’s  Square,  which  is  not  so  much  a square  as  the 
mere  widening  of  a street.  The  house  is  tall  and  thin, 
of  three  stories,  with  a square  front  and  a roof  rising 
steep  and  high.  On  a side-view,  the  building  looks  as 
if  it  had  been  cut  in  two  in  the  midst,  there  being  no 
slope  of  the  roof  on  that  side.  A ladder  slanted 
against  the  wall,  and  a painter  was  giving  a livelier 
hue  to  the  plaster.  In  a corner-room  of  the  basement, 
where  old  Michael  Johnson  may  be  supposed  to  have 
sold  books,  is  now  what  we  should  call  a dry-goods 
store,  or,  according  to  the  English  phrase,  a mercer’s 
and  haberdasher’s  shop.  The  house  has  a private  en- 
trance on  a cross-street,  the  door  being  accessible  by 
several  much-worn  stone  steps,  which  are  bordered  by 
an  iron  balustrade.  I set  my  foot  on  the  steps  and  laid 
my  hand  on  the  balustrade,  where  J ohnson’s  hand  and 
foot  must  many  a time  have  been,  and  ascending  to  the 
door,  I knocked  once,  and  again,  and  again,  and  got 
no  admittance.  Going  round  to  the  shop- entrance,  I 
tried  to  open  it,  but  found  it  as  fast  bolted  as  the  gate 
of  Paradise.  It  is  mortifying  to  be  so  balked  in  one’s 
little  enthusiasms ; but  looking  round  in  quest  of  some- 
body to  make  inquiries  of,  I was  a good  deal  consoled 
by  the  sight  of  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  who  happened, 
just  at  that  moment,  to  be  sitting  at  his  ease  nearly  in 
the  middle  of  St.  Mary’s  Square,  with  his  face  turned 
towards  his  father’s  house. 

Of  course,  it  being  almost  fourscore  years  since  the 
Doctor  laid  aside  his  weary  bulk  of  flesh,  together 
with  the  ponderous  melancholy  that  had  so  long 
weighed  him  down,  the  intelligent  reader  will  at  once 
comprehend  that  he  was  marble  in  his  substance,  and 
seated  in  a marble  chair,  on  an  elevated  stone  pedes- 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER, 


161 


tal.  In  short,  it  was  a statue,  sculptured  by  Lucas, 
and  placed  here  in  1838,  at  the  expense  of  Dr.  Law, 
the  reverend  chancellor  of  the  diocese. 

The  figure  is  colossal  (though  perhaps  not  much 
more  so  than  the  mountainous  Doctor  himself)  and 
looks  down  upon  the  spectator  from  its  pedestal  of  ten 
or  twelve  feet  high,  with  a broad  and  heavy  benignity 
of  aspect,  very  like  in  feature  to  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds’s portrait  of  Johnson,  but  calmer  and  sweeter 
in  expression.  Several  big  books  are  piled  up  beneath 
his  chair,  and,  if  I mistake  not,  he  holds  a volume  in 
his  hand,  thus  blinking  forth  at  the  world  out  of  his 
learned  abstraction,  owl-like,  yet  benevolent  at  heart. 
The  statue  is  immensely  massive,  a vast  ponderosity 
of  stone,  not  finely  spiritualized,  nor,  indeed,  fully 
humanized,  but  rather  resembling  a great  stone-bowh 
der  than  a man.  You  must  look  with  the  eyes  of 
faith  and  sympathy,  or,  possibly,  you  might  lose  the 
human  being  altogether,  and  find  only  a big  stone 
within  your  mental  grasp.  On  the  pedestal  are  three 
bas-reliefs.  In  the  first,  Johnson  is  represented  as 
hardly  more  than  a baby,  bestriding  an  old  man’s 
shoulders,  resting  his  chin  on  the  bald  head,  which  he 
embraces  with  his  little  arms,  and  listening  earnestly 
to  the  High-Church  eloquence  of  Dr.  Sacheverell.  In 
the  second  tablet,  he  is  seen  riding  to  school  on  the 
shoulders  of  two  of  his  comrades,  while  another  boy 
supports  him  in  the  rear. 

The  third  bas-relief  possesses,  to  my  mind,  a great 
deal  of  pathos,  to  which  my  appreciative  faculty  is 
probably  the  more  alive,  because  I have  always  been 
profoundly  impressed  by  the  incident  here  commemo- 
rated, and  long  ago  tried  to  tell  it  for  the  behoof  of 
childish  readers.  It  shows  Johnson  in  the  market- 
11 


YOL.  VII. 


162  LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER, 

place  of  Uttoxeter,  doing  penance  for  an  act  of  diso 
bedience  to  his  father,  committed  fifty  years  before. 
He  stands  bareheaded,  a venerable  figure,  and  a coun- 
tenance extremely  sad  and  woe-begone,  with  the  wind 
and  rain  driving  hard  against  him,  and  thus  helping 
to  suggest  to  the  spectator  the  gloom  of  his  inward 
state.  Some  market-people  and  children  gaze  awe- 
stricken into  his  face,  and  an  aged  man  and  woman, 
with  clasped  and  uplifted  hand,  seem  to  be  praying 
for  him.  These  latter  personages  (whose  introduc- 
tion by  the  artist  is  none  the  less  effective,  because, 
in  queer  proximity,  there  are  some  commodities  of 
market-day  in  the  shape  of  living  ducks  and  dead 
poultry)  I interpreted  to  represent  the  spirits  of  John- 
son’s father  and  mother,  lending  what  aid  they  could 
to  lighten  his  half-century’s  burden  of  remorse. 

I had  never  heard  of  the  above-described  piece  of 
scidpture  before ; it  appears  to  have  no  reputation  as 
a work  of  art,  nor  am  I at  all  positive  that  it  deserves 
any.  For  me,  however,  it  did  as  much  as  sculpture 
could,  under  the  circumstances,  even  if  the  artist  of 
the  Libyan  Sibyl  had  wrought  it,  by  reviving  my  in- 
terest in  the  sturdy  old  Englishman,  and  particularly 
by  freshening  my  perception  of  a wonderful  beauty 
and  pathetic  tenderness  in  the  incident  of  the  penance. 
So,  the  next  day,  I left  Lichfield  for  Uttoxeter,  on  one 
of  the  few  purely  sentimental  pilgrimages  that  I ever 
undertook,  to  see  the  very  spot  where  Johnson  had 
stood.  Boswell,  I think,  speaks  of  the  town  (its 
name  is  pronounced  Yuteoxeter)  as  being  about  nine 
miles  off  from  Lichfield,  but  the  county-map  would 
indicate  a greater  distance  ; and  by  rail,  passing  from 
one  line  to  another,  it  is  as  much  as  eighteen  miles. 
I have  always  had  an  idea  of  old  Michael  Johnson 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


163 


sending  his  literary  merchandise  by  carrier’s  wagon, 
journeying  to  Uttoxeter  afoot  on  market-day  morning, 
selling  books  through  the  busy  hours,  and  returning  to 
Lichfield  at  night.  This  could  not  possibly  have  been 
the  case. 

Arriving  at  the  Uttoxeter  station,  the  first  objects 
that  I saw,  with  a green  field  or  two  between  them 
and  me,  were  the  tower  and  gray  steeple  of  a church, 
rising  among  red-tiled  roofs  and  a few  scattered  trees. 
A very  short  walk  takes  you  from  the  station  up  into 
the  town.  It  had  been  my  previous  impression  that 
the  market-place  of  Uttoxeter  lay  immediately  round- 
about the  church  ; and,  if  I remember  the  narrative 
aright,  Johnson,  or  Boswell  in  his  behalf,  describes 
his  father’s  book-stall  as  standing  in  the  market-place, 
close  beside  the  sacred  edifice.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  say  what  changes  may  have  occurred  in  the  to- 
pography of  the  town,  during  almost  a century  and  a 
half  since  Michael  Johnson  retired  from  business,  and 
ninety  years,  at  least,  since  his  son’s  penance  was  per- 
formed. But  the  church  has  now  merely  a street  of 
ordinary  width  passing  around  it,  while  the  market- 
place, though  near  at  hand,  neither  forms  a part  of 
it  nor  is  really  contiguous,  nor  would  its  throng  and 
bustle  be  apt  to  overflow  their  boundaries  and  surge 
against  the  churchyard  and  the  old  gray  tower.  Never- 
theless, a walk  of  a minute  or  two  brings  a person 
from  the  centre  of  the  market-place  to  the  church- 
door  ; and  Michael  J ohnson  might  very  conveniently 
have  located  his  stall  and  laid  out  his  literary  ware  in 
the  corner  at  the  tower’s  base  ; better  there,  indeed, 
than  in  the  busy  centre  of  an  agricultural  market.  But 
the  picturesque  arrangement  and  full  impressiveness 
of  the  story  absolutely  require  that  Johnson  shall  not 


164 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


have  done  his  penance  in  a corner,  ever  so  little  re- 
tired, but  shall  have  been  the  very  nucleus  of  the 
crowd,  — the  midmost  man  of  the  market-place,  — a 
central  image  of  Memory  and  Remorse,  contrasting 
with  and  overpowering  the  petty  materialism  around 
him.  He  himself,  having  the  force  to  throw  vitality 
and  truth  into  what  persons  differently  constituted 
might  reckon  a mere  external  ceremony,  and  an  ab- 
surd one,  could  not  have  failed  to  see  this  necessity. 
I am  resolved,  therefore,  that  the  true  site  of  Dr. 
Johnson's  penance  was  in  the  middle  of  the  market- 
place. 

That  important  portion  of  the  town  is  a rather 
spacious  and  irregularly  shaped  vacuity,  surrounded 
by  houses  and  shops,  some  of  them  old,  with  red-tiled 
roofs,  others  wearing  a pretence  of  newness,  but  prob- 
ably as  old  in  their  inner  substance  as  the  rest.  The 
people  of  Uttoxeter  seemed  very  idle  in  the  warm 
summer-day,  and  were  scattered  in  little  groups  along 
the  sidewalks,  leisurely  chatting  with  one  another,  and 
often  turning  about  to  take  a deliberate  stare  at  my 
humble  self ; insomuch  that  1 felt  as  if  my  genuine 
sympathy  for  the  illustrious  penitent,  and  my  many 
reflections  about  him,  must  have  imbued  me  with  some 
of  his  own  singularity  of  mien.  If  their  great-grand- 
fathers were  such  redoubtable  starers  in  the  Doctor’s 
day,  his  penance  was  no  light  one.  This  curiosity  in- 
dicates a paucity  of  visitors  to  the  little  town,  except 
for  market  purposes,  and  I question  if  Uttoxeter  ever 
saw  an  American  before.  The  only  other  thing  that 
greatly  impressed  me  was  the  abundance  of  public- 
houses,  one  at  every  step  or  two : Red  Lions,  White 
Harts,  Bulls’  Heads,  Mitres,  Cross  Keys,  and  I know 
not  what  besides.  These  are  probably  for  the  accom 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


165 


modation  of  the  farmers  and  peasantry  of  the  neigh- 
borhood on  market-day,  and  content  themselves  with  a 
very  meagre  business  on  other  days  of  the  week.  At 
any  rate,  I was  the  only  guest  in  Uttoxeter  at  the 
period  of  my  visit,  and  had  but  an  infinitesimal  por- 
tion of  patronage  to  distribute  among  such  a multitude 
of  inns.  The  reader,  however,  will  possibly  be  scan- 
dalized to  learn  what  was  the  first,  and,  indeed,  the 
only  important  affair  that  I attended  to,  after  coming 
so  far  to  indulge  a solemn  and  high  emotion,  and 
standing  now  on  the  very  spot  where  my  pious  errand 
should  have  been  consummated.  I stepped  into  one  of 
the  rustic  hostleries  and  got  my  dinner,  — bacon  and 
greens,  some  mutton-chops,  juicier  and  more  delec- 
table than  all  America  could  serve  up  at  the  President’s 
table,  and  a gooseberry  pudding  ; a sufficient  meal  for 
six  yeomen,  and  good  enough  for  a prince,  besides  a 
pitcher  of  foaming  ale,  the  whole  at  the  pitiful  small 
charge  of  eighteen-pence  ! 

Dr.  Johnson  would  have  forgiven  me,- for  nobody 
had  a heartier  faith  in  beef  and  mutton  than  himself. 
And  as  regards  my  lack  of  sentiment  in  eating  my 
dinner,  — it  was  the  wisest  thing  I had  done  that  day. 
A sensible  man  had  better  not  let  himself  be  betrayed 
into  these  attempts  to  realize  the  things  which  he  has 
dreamed  about,  and  which,  when  they  cease  to  be 
purely  ideal  in  his  mind,  will  have  lost  the  truest  of 
their  truth,  the  loftiest  and  profoundest  part  of  their 
power  over  his  sympathies.  Facts,  as  we  really  find 
them,  whatever  poetry  they  may  involve,  are  covered 
with  a stony  excrescence  of  prose,  resembling  the  crust 
on  a beautiful  sea-shell,  and  they  never  show  their 
most  delicate  and  divinest  colors  until  we  shall  have 
dissolved  away  their  grosser  actualities  by  steeping 


166 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


them  long  in  a powerful  menstruum  of  thought.  And 
seeking  to  actualize  them  again,  we  do  but  renew  the 
crust.  If  this  were  otherwise,  — if  the  moral  sublimity 
of  a great  fact  depended  in  any  degree  on  its  garb  of 
external  circumstances,  things  which  change  and  de- 
cay, — it  could  not  itself  be  immortal  and  ubiquitous, 
and  only  a brief  point  of  time  and  a little  neighbor- 
hood would  be  spiritually  nourished  by  its  grandeur 
and  beauty. 

Such  were  a few  of  the  reflections  which  I mingled 
with  my  ale,  as  I remember  to  have  seen  an  old  quaffer 
of  that  excellent  liquor  stir  up  his  cup  with  a sprig  of 
some  bitter  and  fragrant  herb.  Meanwhile  I found 
myself  still  haunted  by  a desire  to  get  a definite  result 
out  of  my  visit  to  Uttoxeter.  The  hospitable  inn  was 
called  the  Nag’s  Head,  and,  standing  beside  the  mar- 
ket-place, was  as  likely  as  any  other  to  have  enter- 
tained old  Michael  J ohnson  in  the  days  when  he  used 
to  come  hither  to  sell  books.  He,  perhaps,  had  dined 
on  bacon  and  greens,  and  drunk  his  ale,  and  smoked 
his  pipe,  in  the  very  room  where  I now  sat,  which  was 
a low,  ancient  room,  certainly  much  older  than  Queen 
Anne’s  time,  with  a red-brick  floor,  and  a white-washed 
ceiling,  traversed  by  bare,  rough  beams,  the  whole  in 
the  rudest  fashion,  but  extremely  neat.  Neither  did 
it  lack  ornament,  the  walls  being  hung  with  colored  en- 
gravings of  prize  oxen  and  other  pretty  prints,  and  the 
mantel-piece  adorned  with  earthen-ware  figures  of  shep- 
herdesses in  the  Arcadian  taste  of  long  ago.  Michael 
Johnson’s  eyes  might  have  rested  on  that  self-same 
earthen  image,  to  examine  which  more  closely  I had 
just  crossed  the  brick  pavement  of  the  room.  And, 
sitting  down  again,  still  as  I sipped  my  ale,  I glanced 
through  the  open  window  into  the  sunny  market-place, 


LICHFIELD  AND  UTTOXETER. 


167 


and  wished  that  I could  honestly  fix  on  one  spot  rather 
than  another,  as  likely  to  have  been  the  holy  site  where 
J ohnson  stood  to  do  his  penance. 

How  strange  and  stupid  it  is  that  tradition  should  not 
have  marked  and  kept  in  mind  the  very  place ! How 
shameful  (nothing  less  than  that)  that  there  should 
be  no  local  memorial  of  this  incident,  as  beautiful  and 
touching  a passage  as  can  be  cited  out  of  any  human 
life ! No  inscription  of  it,  almost  as  sacred  as  a verse 
of  Scripture  on  the  wall  of  the  church ! No  statue  of 
the  venerable  and  illustrious  penitent  in  the  market- 
place to  throw  a wholesome  awe  over  its  earthliness, 
its  frauds  and  petty  wrongs,  of  which  the  benumbed 
fingers  of  conscience  can  make  no  record,  its  selfish 
competition  of  each  man  with  his  brother  or  his  neigh- 
bor, its  traffic  of  soul  - substance  for  a little  worldly 
gain ! Such  a statue,  if  the  piety  of  the  people  did 
not  raise  it,  might  almost  have  been  expected  to  grow 
up  out  of  the  pavement  of  its  own  accord  on  the  spot 
that  had  been  watered  by  the  rain  that  dripped  from 
Johnson’s  garments,  mingled  with  his  remorseful  tears. 

Long  after  my  visit  to  Uttoxeter,  I was  told  that 
there  were  individuals  in  the  town  who  could  have 
shown  me  the  exact,  indubitable  spot  where  Johnson 
performed  his  penance.  I was  assured,  moreover,  that 
sufficient  interest  was  felt  in  the  subject  to  have  in- 
duced certain  local  discussions  as  to  the  expediency  of 
erecting  a memorial.  With  all  deference  to  my  polite 
informant,  I surmise  that  there  is  a mistake,  and  de- 
cline, without  further  and  precise  evidence,  giving 
credit  to  either  of  the  above  statements.  The  inhab- 
itants know  nothing,  as  a matter  of  general  interest, 
about  the  penance,  and  care  nothing  for  the  scene  of 
it.  If  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  for  example,  had 


168  LICHFIELD  AND  tJTTOXETER. 

ever  heard  of  it,  would  he  not  have  used  the  theme 
time  and  again,  wherewith  to  work  tenderly  and  pro- 
foundly on  the  souls  committed  to  his  charge?  If 
parents  were  familiar  with  it,  would  they  not  teach  it 
to  their  young  ones  at  the  fireside,  both  to  insure  rev- 
erence to  their  own  gray  hairs,  and  to  protect  the  chil- 
dren from  such  unavailing  regrets  as  Johnson  bore 
upon  his  heart  for  fifty  years  ? If  the  site  were  ascer* 
tained,  would  not  the  pavement  thereabouts  be  worn 
with  reverential  footsteps?  Would  not  every  town- 
born  child  be  able  to  direct  the  pilgrim  thither  ? While 
waiting  at  the  station,  before  my  departure,  I asked  a 
boy  who  stood  near  me,  — an  intelligent  and  gentle- 
manly lad  twelve  or  thirteeen  years  old,  whom  I should 
take  to  be  a clergyman’s  son,  — I asked  him  if  he  had 
ever  heard  the  story  of  Dr.  Johnson,  how  he  stood  an 
hour  doing  penance  near  that  church,  the  spire  of 
which  rose  before  us.  The  boy  stared  and  answered,  — 
^^No!” 

‘‘  Were  you  born  in  Uttoxeter  ? ” 

Yes.” 

I inquired  if  no  circumstance  such  as  I had  men- 
tioned was  known  or  talked  about  among  the  inhab- 
itants. 

‘‘  No,”  said  the  boy ; not  that  I ever  heard  of.” 

Just  think  of  the  absurd  little  town,  knowing  noth- 
ing of  the  only  memorable  incident  which  ever  hap- 
pened within  its  boundaries  since  the  old  Britons  built 
it,  this  sad  and  lovely  story,  which  consecrates  the  spot 
(for  I found  it  holy  to  my  Contemplation,  again,  as 
soon  as  it  lay  behind  me)  in  the  heart  of  a stranger 
from  three  thousand  miles  over  the  sea  ! It  but  con- 
firms what  I have  been  saying,  that  sublime  and  beau- 
tiful facts  are  best  understood  when  etherealized  by 
distance. 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


W E set  out  at  a little  past  eleven,  and  made  our 
first  stage  to  Manchester.  We  were  by  this  time  suf- 
ficiently Anglicized  to  reckon  the  morning  a bright 
and  sunny  one  ; although  the  May  sunshine  was  min- 
gled with  water,  as  it  were,  and  distempered  with  a 
very  bitter  east-wind. 

Lancashire  is  a dreary  county  (all,  at  least,  except 
its  hilly  portions),  and  I have  never  passed  through  it 
without  wishing  myself  anywhere  but  in  that  particu- 
lar spot  where  I then  happened  to  be.  A few  places 
along  our  route  were  historically  interesting ; as,  for 
example,  Bolton,  which  was  the  scene  of  many  remark- 
able events  in  the  Parliamentary  War,  and  in  the 
market  - square  of  which  one  of  the  Earls  of  Derby 
was  beheaded.  W e saw,  along  the  wayside,  the  never- 
failing  green  fields,  hedges,  and  other  monotonous  fea- 
tures of  an  ordinary  English  landscape.  There  were 
little  factory  villages,  too,  or  larger  towns,  with  their 
tall  chimneys,  and  their  pennons  of  black  smoke,  their 
ugliness  of  brick-work,  and  their  heaps  of  refuse  mat- 
ter from  the  furnace,  which  seems  to  be  the  only  kind 
of  stuff  which  Nature  cannot  take  back  to  herself  and 
resolve  into  the  elements,  when  man  has  thrown  it 
aside.  These  hillocks  of  waste  and  effete  mineral  al- 
ways disfigure  the  neighborhood  of  iron  - mongering 
towns,  and,  even  after  a considerable  antiquity,  are 
hardly  made  decent  with  a little  grass. 

At  a quarter  to  two  we  left  Manchester  by  the  Shef- 


170 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


field  and  Lincoln  Railway.  The  scenery  grew  rather 
better  than  that  through  which  we  had  hitherto  passed, 
though  still  by  no  means  very  striking ; for  (except 
in  the  show  - districts,  such  as  the  Lake  country,  or 
Derbyshire)  English  scenery  is  not  particularly  well 
worth  looking  at,  considered  as  a spectacle  or  a pic- 
ture. It  has  a real,  homely  charm  of  its  own,  nc 
doubt ; and  the  rich  verdure,  and  the  thorough  finish 
added  by  human  art,  are  perhaps  as  attractive  to  an 
American  eye  as  any  stronger  feature  could  be.  Our 
journey,  however,  between  Manchester  and  Sheffield 
was  not  through  a rich  tract  of  country,  but  along 
a valley  walled  in  by  bleak,  ridgy  hills  extending 
straight  as  a rampart,  and  across  black  moorlands 
with  here  and  there  a plantation  of  trees.  Sometimes 
there  were  long  and  gradual  ascents,  bleak,  windy, 
and  desolate,  conveying  the  very  impression  which  the 
reader  gets  from  many  passages  of  Miss  Bronte’s  nov- 
els, and  still  more  from  those  of  her  two  sisters.  Old 
stone  or  brick  farm-houses,  and,  once  in  a while,  an 
old  church-tower,  were  visible  ; but  these  are  almost 
too  common  objects  to  be  noticed  in  an  English  land- 
scape. 

On  a railway,  I suspect,  what  little  we  do  see  of  the 
country  is  seen  quite  amiss,  because  it  was  never  in- 
tended to  be  looked  at  from  any  point  of  view  in  that 
straight  line ; so  that  it  is  like  looking  at  the  wrong 
side  of  a piece  of  tapestry.  The  old  highways  and 
foot-paths  were  as  natural  as  brooks  and  rivulets,  and 
adapted  themselves  by  an  inevitable  impulse  to  the 
physiognomy  of  the  country ; and,  furthermore,  every 
object  within  view  of  them  had  some  subtile  reference 
to  their  curves  and  undulations  ; but  the  line  of  a rail- 
way is  perfectly  artificial,  and  puts  all  precedent 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


171 


(tilings  at  sixes-and-sevens.  At  any  rate,  be  the  cause 
what  it  may,  there  is  seldom  anything  worth  seeing 
within  the  scope  of  a railway  traveller’s  eye ; and  if 
there  were,  it  requires  an  alert  marksman  to  take  a 
flying  shot  at  the  picturesque. 

At  one  of  the  stations  (it  was  near  a village  of  an- 
cient  aspect,  nestling  round  a church,  on  a wide  York- 
shire moor)  I saw  a tall  old  lady  in  black,  who  seemed 
to  have  just  alighted  from  the  train.  She  caught  my 
attention  by  a singular  movement  of  the  head,  not 
once  only,  but  continually  repeated,  and  at  regular  in- 
tervals, as  if  she  were  making  a stern  and  solemn  pro- 
test against  some  action  that  developed  itself  before 
her  eyes,  and  were  foreboding  terrible  disaster,  if  it 
should  be  persisted  in.  Of  course,  it  was  nothing- 
more  than  a paralytic  or  nervous  affection ; yet  one 
might  fancy  that  it  had  its  origin  in  some  unspeakable 
wrong,  perpetrated  half  a lifetime  ago  in  this  old  gen- 
tlewoman’s presence,  either  against  herself  or  some- 
body whom  she  loved  still  better.  Her  features  had 
a wonderful  sternness,  which,  I presume,  was  caused 
by  her  habitual  effort  to  compose  and  keep  them 
quiet,  and  thereby  counteract  the  tendency  to  para- 
lytic movement.  The  slow,  regular,  and  inexorable 
character  of  the  motion  — her  look  of  force  and  self- 
control,  which  had  the  appearance  of  rendering  it  vol- 
untary, while  yet  it  was  so  fateful  — have  stamped 
this  poor  lady’s  face  and  gesture  into  my  memory ; so 
that,  some  dark  day  or  other,  1 am  afraid  she  will  re- 
produce herself  in  a dismal  romance. 

The  train  stopped  a minute  or  two,  to  allow  the 
tickets  to  be  taken,  just  before  entering  the  Sheffield 
station,  and  thence  I had  a glimpse  of  the  famous 
town  of  razors  and  penknives,  enveloped  in  a cloud  of 


172 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


its  own  diffusing.  My  impressions  of  it  are  extremely 
vague  and  misty,  — or  rather,  smoky : for  Sheffield 
seems  to  me  smokier  than  Manchester,  Liverpool,  or 
Birmingham,  — smokier  than  all  England  besides,  urn 
less  Newcastle  be  the  exception.  It  might  have  been 
Pluto’s  own  metropolis,  shrouded  in  sulphurous  vapor ; 
and,  indeed,  our  approach  to  it  had  been  by  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  through  a tunnel  three  miles 
in  length,  quite  traversing  the  breadth  and  depth  of  a 
mountainous  hill. 

After  passing  Sheffield,  the  scenery  became  softer, 
gentler,  yet  more  picturesque.  At  one  point  we  saw 
what  I believe  to  be  the  utmost  northern  verge  of 
Sherwood  Forest,  — not  consisting,  however,  of  thou- 
sand-year oaks,  extant  from  Robin  Hood’s  days,  but 
of  young  and  thriving  plantations,  which  will  require 
a century  or  two  of  slow  English  growth  to  give  them 
much  breadth  of  shade.  Earl  Fitzwilliam’s  property 
lies  in  this  neighborhood,  and  probably  his  castle  was 
hidden  among  some  soft  depth  of  foliage  not  far  off. 
Farther  onward  the  country  grew  quite  level  around 
us,  whereby  I judged  that  we  must  now  be  in  Lin- 
colnshire ; and  shortly  after  six  o’clock  we  caught  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  cathedral  towers,  though  they 
loomed  scarcely  huge  enough  for  our  preconceived 
idea  of  them.  But,  as  we  drew  nearer,  the  great  edi- 
fice began  to  assert  itself,  making  us  acknowledge  it 
to  be  larger  than  our  receptivity  could  take  in. 

At  the  railway-station  we  found  no  cab  (it  being  an 
unknown  vehicle  in  Lincoln),  but  only  an  omnibus 
belonging  to  the  Saracen’s  Head,  which  the  driver  rec- 
ommended as  the  best  hotel  in  the  city,  and  took  us 
thither  accordingly.  It  received  us  hospitably,  and 
looked  comfortable  enough  ; though,  like  the  hotels  of 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


173 


most  old  English  towns,  it  had  a musty  fragrance  of 
antiquity,  such  as  1 have  smelt  in  a seldom-opened 
London  church  where  the  broad-aisle  is  paved  with 
tombstones.  The  house  was  of  an  ancient  fashion,  the 
entrance  into  its  interior  court-yard  being  through  an 
arch,  in  the  side  of  which  is  the  door  of  the  hotel. 
There  are  long  corridors,  an  intricate  arrangement  of 
passages,  an  up  - and  - down  meandering  of  staircases, 
amid  which  it  would  be  no  marvel  to  encounter  some 
forgotten  guest  who  had  gone  astray  a hundred  years 
ago,  and  was  still  seeking  for  his  bedroom  while  the 
rest  of  his  generation  were  in  their  graves.  There  is 
no  exaggerating  the  confusion  of  mind  that  seizes 
upon  a stranger  in  the  bewildering  geography  of  a 
great  old-fashioned  English  inn. 

This  hotel  stands  in  the  principal  street  of  Lincoln, 
and  within  a very  short  distance  of  one  of  the  ’ancient 
city-gates,  which  is  arched  across  the  public  way,  with 
a smaller  arch  for  foot-passengers  on  either  side  ; the 
whole,  a gray,  time-gnawn,  ponderous,  shadowy  struc- 
ture, through  the  dark  vista  of  which  you  look  into  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  street  is  narrow,  and  retains  many 
antique  peculiarities  ; though,  unquestionably,  English 
domestic  architecture  has  lost  its  most  impressive  fea- 
tures, in  the  course  of  the  last  century.  In  this  re- 
spect, there  are  finer  old  towns  than  Lincoln : Chester, 
for  instance,  and  Shrewsbury,  — which  last  is  unusu- 
ally rich  in  those  quaint  and  stately  edifices  where  the 
gentry  of  the  shire  used  to  make  their  winter  abodes, 
in  a provincial  metropolis.  Almost  everywhere,  nowa- 
days, there  is  a monotony  of  modern  brick  or  stuccoed 
fronts,  hiding  houses  that  are  older  than  ever,  but  ob- 
literating the  picturesque  antiquity  of  the  street. 

Between  seven  and  eight  o’clock  (it  being  still 


174 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


broad  daylight  in  these  long  English  days)  we  set  out 
to  pay  a preliminary  visit  to  the  exterior  of  the  Cathe- 
dral. Passing  through  the  Stone  Bow,  as  the  city- 
gate  close  by  is  called,  we  ascended  a street  which 
grew  steeper  and  narrower  as  we  advanced,  till  at  last 
it  got  to  be  the  steepest  street  I ever  climbed,  — so 
steep  that  any  carriage,  if  left  to  itself,  would  rattle 
downward  much  faster  than  it  could  possibly  be  drawn 
up.  Being  almost  the  only  hill  in  Lincolnshire,  the 
inhabitants  seem  disposed  to  make  the  most  of  it.  The 
houses  on  each  side  had  no  very  remarkable  aspect, 
except  one  with  a stone  portal  and  carved  ornaments, 
which  is  now  a dwelling-place  for  poverty-stricken 
people,  but  may  have  been  an  aristocratic  abode  in 
the  days  of  the  Norman  kings,  to  whom  its  style  of 
architecture  dates  back.  This  is  called  the  Jewess’s 
House,’ having  been  inhabited  by  a woman  of  that 
faith  who  was  hanged  six  hundred  years  ago. 

And  still  the  street  grew  steeper  and  steeper.  Cer- 
tainly, the  Bishop  and  clergy  of  Lincoln  ought  not  to 
be  fat  men,  but  of  very  spiritual,  saint-like,  almost 
angelic  habit,  if  it  be  a frequent  part  of  their  ecclesias- 
tical duty  to  climb  this  hill ; for  it  is  a real  penance, 
and  was  probably  performed  as  such,  and  groaned 
over  accordingly,  in  monkish  times.  Formerly,  on 
the  day  of  his  installation,  the  Bishop  used  to  ascend 
the  hill  barefoot,  and  was  doubtless  cheered  and  invig- 
orated by  looking  upward  to  the  grandeur  that  was 
to  console  him  for  the  humility  of  his  approach.  We, 
likewise,  were  beckoned  onward  by  glimpses  of  the  ca- 
thedral towers  ; and,  finally,  attaining  an  open  square 
on  the  summit,  we  saw  an  old  Gothic  gateway  to  the 
left  hand,  and  another  to  the  right.  The  latter  had 
apparently  been  a part  of  the  exterior  defences  of 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


175 


the  Cathedral,  at  a time  when  the  edifice  was  fortified. 
The  west  front  rose  behind.  We  passed  through  one 
of  the  side-arches  of  the  Gothic  portal,  and  found  our- 
selves in  the  Cathedral  Close,  a wide,  level  space, 
where  the  great  old  Minster  has  fair  room  to  sit,  look- 
ing down  on  the  ancient  structures  that  surround  it, 
all  of  which,  in  former  days,  were  the  habitations  of 
its  dignitaries  and  ofiicers.  Some  of  them  are  still  oc- 
cupied as  such,  though  others  are  in  too  neglected  and 
dilapidated  a state  to  seem  worthy  of  so  splendid  an 
establishment.  Unless  it  be  Salisbury  Close,  however 
(which  is  incomparably  rich  as  regards  the  old  resi- 
dences that  belong  to  it),  I remember  no  more  com- 
fortably picturesque  precincts  round  any  other  cathe- 
dral. But,  in  truth,  almost  every  cathedral  close,  in 
turn,  has  seemed  to  me  the  loveliest,  cosiest,  safest, 
least  wind-shaken,  most  decorous,  and  most  enjoyable 
shelter  that  ever  the  thrift  and  selfishness  of  mortal 
man  contrived  for  himself.  How  delightful,  to  com- 
bine all  this  with  the  service  of  the  temple  ! 

Lincoln  Cathedral  is  built  of  a yellowish  brown- 
stone,  which  appears  either  to  have  been  largely  re- 
stored, or  else  does  not  assume  the  hoary,  crumbly 
surface  that  gives  such  a venerable  aspect  to  most  of 
the  ancient  churches  and  castles  in  England.  In  many 
parts,  the  recent  restorations  are  quite  evident ; but 
other,  and  much  the  larger  portions,  can  scarcely  have 
been  touched  for  centuries : for  there  are  still  the  gar- 
goyles, perfect,  or  with  broken  noses,  as  the  case  may 
be,  but  showing  that  variety  and  fertility  of  grotesque 
extravagance  which  no  modern  imitation  can  effecto 
There  are  innumerable  niches,  too,  up  the  whole  height 
of  the  towers,  above  and  around  the  entrance,  and  all 
over  the  walls  : most  of  them  empty,  but  a few  con- 


176 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


taining  the  lamentable  remnants  of  headless  saints  and 
angels.  It  is  singular  what  a native  animosity  lives 
in  the  human  heart  against  carved  images,  insomuch 
that,  whether  they  represent  Christian  saint  or  Pagan 
deity,  all  unsophisticated  men  seize  the  first  safe  op« 
portunity  to  knock  off  their  heads ! In  spite  of  all 
dilapidations,  however,  the  effect  of  the  west  front  of 
the  Cathedral  is  still  exceedingly  rich,  being  covered 
from  massive  base  to  airy  summit  with  the  minutest 
details  of  sculpture  and  carving:  at  least,  it  was  so 
once ; and  even  now  the  spiritual  impression  of  its 
beauty  remains  so  strong,  that  we  have  to  look  twice 
to  see  that  much  of  it  has  been  obliterated.  I have 
seen  a cherry-stone  carved  all  over  by  a monk,  so  mi- 
nutely that  it  must  have  cost  him  half  a lifetime  of 
labor;  and  this  cathedral  - front  seems  to  have  been 
elaborated  in  a monkish  spirit,  like  that  cherry-stone. 
Not  that  the  result  is  in  the  least  petty,  but  miracu- 
lously grand,  and  all  the  more  so  for  the  faithful 
beauty  of  the  smallest  details. 

An  elderly  man,  seeing  us  looking  up  at  the  west 
front,  came  to  the  door  of  an  adjacent  house,  and 
called  to  inquire  if  we  wished  to  go  into  the  Cathe- 
dral ; but  as  there  would  have  been  a dusky  twilight 
beneath  its  roof,  like  the  antiquity  that  has  sheltered 
itself  within,  we  declined  for  the  present.  So  we 
merely  walked  round  the  exterior,  and  thought  it 
more  beautiful  than  that  of  York ; though,  on  recol- 
lection, I hardly  deem  it  so  majestic  and  mighty  as 
that.  It  is  vain  to  attempt  a description,  or  seek  even 
to  record  the  feeling  which  the  edifice  inspires.  It 
does  not  impress  the  beholder  as  an  inanimate  object, 
but  as  something  that  has  a vast,  quiet,  long-enduring 
life  of  its  own,  — a creation  which  man  did  not  build, 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


177 


though  in  some  way  or  other  it  is  connected  with 
him,  and  kindred  to  human  nature.  In  short,  I faU 
straightway  to  talking  nonsense,  when  I try  to  ex- 
press my  inner  sense  of  this  and  other  cathedrals. 

While  we  stood  in  the  close,  at  the  eastern  end  of 
the  Minster,  the  clock  chimed  the  quarters ; and  then 
Great  Tom,  who  hangs  in  the  Rood  Tower,  told  us  it 
was  eight  o’clock,  in  far  the  sweetest  and  mightiest 
accents  that  I ever  heard  from  any  bell,  — slow,  and 
solemn,  and  allowing  the  profound  reverberations  of 
each  stroke  to  die  away  before  the  next  one  fell.  It 
was  still  broad  daylight  in  that  upper  region  of  the 
town,  and  would  be  so  for  some  time  longer ; but  the 
evening  atmosphere  was  getting  sharp  and  cool.  We 
therefore  descended  the  steep  street,  — our  younger 
companion  running  before  us,  and  gathering  such 
headway  that  I fully  expected  him  to  break  his  head 
against  some  projecting  wall. 

In  the  morning  we  took  a fly  (an  English  term  for 
an  exceedingly  sluggish  vehicle),  and  drove  up  to  the 
Minster  by  a road  rather  less  steep  and  abrupt  than 
the  one  we  had  previously  climbed.  We  alighted  be- 
fore the  west  front,  and  sent  our  charioteer  in  quest 
of  the  verger ; but,  as  he  was  not  immediately  to  be 
found,  a young  girl  let  us  into  the  nave.  We  found 
it  very  grand,  it  is  needless  to  say,  but  not  so  grand, 
methought,  as  the  vast  nave  of  York  Cathedral,  es- 
pecially beneath  the  great  central  tower  of  the  latter. 
Unless  a writer  intends  a professedly  architectural 
description,  there  is  but  one  set  of  phrases  in  which 
to  talk  of  all  the  cathedrals  in  England  and  elsewhere. 
They  are  alike  in  their  great  features : an  acre  or  two 
of  stone  flags  for  a pavement ; rows  of  vast  columns 
supporting  a vaulted  roof  at  a dusky  height ; great 

VOL.  VII.  12 


178 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


windows,  sometimes  richly  bedimmed  with  ancient 
or  modern  stained  glass  ; and  an  elaborately  carved 
screen  between  the  nave  and  chancel,  breaking  the 
vista  that  might  else  be  of  such  glorious  length,  and 
which  is  further  choked  up  by  a massive  organ,  — in 
spite  of  which  obstructions  you  catch  the  broad,  va- 
riegated glimmer  of  the  painted  east  window,  where 
a hundred  saints  wear  their  robes  of  transfiguration. 
Behind  the  screen  are  the  carved  oaken  stalls  of  the 
Chapter  and  Prebendaries,  the  Bishop’s  throne,  the 
pulpit,  the  altar,  and  whatever  else  may  furnish  out 
the  Holy  of  Holies.  Nor  must  we  forget  the  range  of 
chapels  (once  dedicated  to  Catholic  saints,  but  which 
have  now  lost  their  individual  consecration),  nor  the 
old  monuments  of  kings,  warriors,  and  prelates,  in 
the  side-aisles  of  the  chancel.  In  close  contiguity  to 
the  main  body  of  the  Cathedral  is  the  Chapter-House, 
which,  here  at  Lincoln,  as  at  Salisbury,  is  supported 
by  one  central  pillar  rising  from  the  floor,  and  putting 
forth  branches  like  a tree,  to  hold  up  the  roof.  Adja- 
cent to  the  Chapter-House  are  the  cloisters,  extending 
round  a quadrangle,  and  paved  with  lettered  tomb- 
stones, the  more  antique  of  which  have  had  their  in- 
scriptions half  obliterated  by  the  feet  of  monks  taking 
their  noontide  exercise  in  these  sheltered  walks,  five 
hundred  years  ago.  Some  of  these  old  burial-stones, 
although  with  ancient  crosses  engraved  upon  them, 
have  been  made  to  serve  as  memorials  to  dead  people 
of  very  recent  date. 

In  the  chancel,  among  the  tombs  of  forgotten  bish- 
ops and  knights,  we  saw  an  immense  slab  of  stone  pur- 
porting to  be  the  monument  of  Catherine  Swynford, 
wife  of  J ohn  of  Gaunt ; also,  here  was  the  shrine  of  the 
little  Saint  Hugh,  that  Christian  child  who  was  fabled 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


179 


to  have  been  crucified  by  the  Jews  of  Lincoln.  The 
Cathedral  is  not  particularly  rich  in  monuments  ; for 
it  suffered  grievous  outrage  and  dilapidation,  both  at 
the  Reformation  and  in  Cromwell’s  time.  This  latter 
iconoclast  is  in  especially  bad  odor  with  the  sextons 
and  vergers  of  most  of  the  old  churches  which  I have 
visited.  His  soldiers  stabled  their  steeds  in  the  nave 
of  Lincoln  Cathedral,  and  hacked  and  hewed  the 
monkish  sculptures,  and  the  ancestral  memorials  of 
great  families,  quite  at  their  wicked  and  plebeian 
pleasure.  Nevertheless,  there  are  some  most  exqui- 
site and  marvellous  specimens  of  flowers,  foliage,  and 
grapevines,  and  miracles  of  stone-work  twined  about 
arches,  as  if  the  material  had  been  as  soft  as  wax  in 
the  cunning  sculptor’s  hands,  — the  leaves  being  rep- 
resented with  all  their  veins,  so  that  you  would  al- 
most think  it  petrified  Nature,  for  which  he  sought  to 
steal  the  praise  of  Art.  Here,  too,  were  those  gro- 
tesque faces  which  always  grin  at  you  from  the  pro- 
jections of  monkish  architecture,  as  if  the  builders  had 
gone  mad  with  their  own  deep  solemnity,  or  dreaded 
such  a catastrophe,  unless  permitted  to  throw  in  some- 
thing ineffably  absurd. 

Originally,  it  is  supposed,  all  the  pillars  of  this  great 
edifice,  and  all  these  magic  sculptures,  were  polished  to 
the  utmost  degree  of  lustre  ; nor  is  it  unreasonable  to 
think  that  the  artists  would  have  taken  these  further 
pains,  when  they  had  already  bestowed  so  much  labor 
in  working  out  their  conceptions  to  the  extremest 
point.  But,  at  present,  the  whole  interior  of  the  Ca- 
thedral is  smeared  over  with  a yellowish  wash,  the 
very  meanest  hue  imaginable,  and  for  which  some- 
body’s soul  has  a bitter  reckoning  to  undergo. 

In  the  centre  of  the  grassy  quadrangle  about  which 


180 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON, 


the  cloisters  perambulate  is  a small,  mean  brick  build- 
ing, with  a locked  door.  Our  guide,  — 1 forgot  to  say 
that  we  had  been  captured  by  a verger,  in  black,  and 
with  a white  tie,  but  of  a lusty  and  jolly  aspect,  — 
our  guide  unlocked  this  door,  and  disclosed  a flight  of 
steps.  At  the  bottom  appeared  what  I should  have 
taken  to  be  a large  square  of  dim,  worn,  and  faded  oil- 
carpeting, which  might  originally  have  been  painted 
of  a rather  gaudy  pattern.  This  was  a Roman  tesseh 
lated  pavement,  made  of  small  colored  bricks,  or  pieces 
of  burnt  clay.  It  was  accidentally  discovered  here, 
and  has  not  been  meddled  with,  further  than  by  re- 
moving the  superincumbent  earth  and  rubbish. 

Nothing  else  occurs  to  me,  just  now,  to  be  recorded 
about  the  interior  of  the  Cathedral,  except  that  we  saw 
a place  where  the  stone  pavement  had  been  worn  away 
by  the  feet  of  ancient  pilgrims  scraping  upon  it,  as 
they  knelt  down  before  a shrine  of  the  Virgin. 

Leaving  the  Minster,  we  now  went  along  a street  of 
more  venerable  appearance  than  we  had  heretofore 
seen,  bordered  with  houses,  the  high-peaked  roofs  of 
which  were  covered  with  red  earthen  tiles.  It  led  us 
to  a Roman  arch,  which  was  once  the  gateway  of  a 
fortification,  and  has  been  striding  across  the  English 
street  ever  since  the  latter  was  a faint  village  - path, 
and  for  centuries  before.  The  arch  is  about  four  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  Cathedral,  and  it  is  to  be  noticed 
that  there  are  Roman  remains  in  all  this  neighbor- 
hood, some  above  ground,  and  doubtless  innumerable 
more  beneath  it ; for,  as  in  ancient  Rome  itself,  an  in- 
undation of  accumulated  soil  seems  to  have  swept  over 
what  was  the  surface  of  that  earlier  day.  The  gate- 
way which  I am  speaking  about  is  probably  buried  to 
a third  of  its  height,  and  perhaps  has  as  perfect  a Ro' 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


181 


man  pavement  (if  sought  for  at  the  original  depth)  as 
that  which  runs  beneath  the  Arch  of  Titus.  It  is  a 
rude  and  massive  structure,  and  seems  as  stalwart  now 
as  it  could  have  been  two  thousand  years  ago  ; and 
though  Time  has  gnawed  it  externally,  he  has  made 
what  amends  he  could  by  crowning  its  rough  and  bro- 
ken summit  with  grass  and  weeds,  and  planting  tufts 
of  yellow  flowers  on  the  projections  up  and  down  the 
sides. 

There  are  the  ruins  of  a Norman  castle,  built  by  the 
Conqueror,  in  pretty  close  proximity  to  the  Cathedral ; 
but  the  old  gateway  is  obstructed  by  a modern  door  of 
wood,  and  we  were  denied  admittance,  because  some 
part  of  the  precincts  are  used  as  a prison.  We  now 
rambled  about  on  the  broad  back  of  the  hill,  which, 
besides  the  Minster  and  ruined  castle,  is  the  site  of 
some  stately  and  queer  old  houses,  and  of  many  mean 
little  hovels.  I suspect  that  all  or  most  of  the  life  of 
the  present  day  has  subsided  into  the  lower  town,  and 
that  only  priests,  poor  people,  and  prisoners  dwell  in 
these  upper  regions.  In  the  wide,  dry  moat,  at  the 
base  of  the  castle-wall,  are  clustered  whole  colonies  of 
small  houses,  some  of  brick,  but  the  larger  portion 
built  of  old  stones  which  once  made  part  of  the  Nor- 
man keep,  or  of  Roman  structures  that  existed  before 
the  Conqueror’s  castle  was  ever  dreamed  about.  They 
are  like  toadstools  that  spring  up  from  the  mould  of 
a decaying  tree.  Ugly  as  they  are,  they  add  wonder- 
fully to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  being  quite 
as  valuable,  in  that  respect,  as  the  great,  broad,  pon- 
derous ruin  of  the  castle-keep,  which  rose  high  above 
our  heads,  heaving  its  huge,  gray  mass  out  of  a bank 
of  green  foliage  and  ornamental  shrubbery,  such  as 
lilacs,  and  other  flowering  plants,  in  which  its  founda- 
tions were  completely  hidden. 


182 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON, 


After  walking  quite  round  the  castle,  I made  an  ex- 
cursion through  the  Roman  gateway,  along  a pleasant 
and  level  road  bordered  with  dwellings  of  various  char- 
acter. One  or  two  were  houses  of  gentility,  with  de- 
lightful and  shadowy  lawns  before  them  ; many  had 
those  high,  red  - tiled  roofs,  ascending  into  acutely 
pointed  gables,  which  seem  to  belong  to  the  same  epoch 
as  some  of  the  edifices  in  our  own  earlier  towns ; and 
there  were  pleasant-looking  cottages,  very  sylvan  and 
rural,  with  hedges  so  dense  and  high,  fencing  them  in, 
as  almost  to  hide  them  up  to  the  eaves  of  their  thatched 
roofs.  In  front  of  one  of  these  I saw  various  images, 
crosses,  and  relics  of  antiquity,  among  which  were 
fragments  of  old  Catholic  tombstones,  disposed  by 
way  of  ornament. 

We  now  went  home  to  the  Saracen’s  Head ; and  as 
the  weather  was  very  unpropitious,  and  it  sprinkled  a 
little  now  and  then,  I would  gladly  have  felt  myself 
released  from  further  thraldom  to  the  Cathedral.  But 
it  had  taken  possession  of  me,  and  would  not  let  me 
be  at  rest ; so  at  leng1;h  I found  myself  compelled  to 
climb  the  hill  again  between  daylight  and  dusk.  A 
mist  was  now  hovering  about  the  upper  height  of  the 
great  central  tower,  so  as  to  dim  and  half  obliterate 
its  battlements  and  pinnacles,  even  while  I stood  in 
the  close  beneath  it.  It  was  the  most  impressive  view 
that  I had  had.  The  whole  lower  part  of  the  structure 
was  seen  with  perfect  distinctness ; but  at  the  very  sum- 
mit the  mist  was  so  dense  as  to  form  an  actual  cloud, 
as  well  defined  as  ever  I saw  resting  on  a mountain- 
top.  Really  and  literally,  here  was  a “ cloud  - capt 
tower.” 

The  entire  Cathedral,  too,  transfigured  itself  into  a 
richer  beauty  and  more  imposing  majesty  than  ever. 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON.  183 

The  longer  I looked,  the  better  I loved  it.  Its  exte- 
rior is  certainly  far  more  beautiful  than  that  of  York 
Minster ; and  its  finer  effect  is  due,  I think,  to  the 
many  peaks  in  which  the  structure  ascends,  and  to  the 
pinnacles  which,  as  it  were,  repeat  and  reecho  them 
into  the  sky.  York  Cathedral  is  comparatively  square 
and  angular  in  its  general  effect ; but  in  this  at  Lin- 
coln there  is  a continual  mystery  of  variety,  so  that  at 
every  glance  you  are  aware  of  a change,  and  a disclos- 
ure of  something  new,  yet  working  an  harmonious 
development  of  what  you  have  heretofore  seen.  The 
west  front  is  unspeakably  grand,  and  may  be  read 
over  and  over  again  forever,  and  still  show  undetected 
meanings,  like  a great,  broad  page  of  marvellous  writ- 
ing in  black-letter,  — so  many  sculptured  ornaments 
there  are,  blossoming  out  before  your  eyes,  and  gray 
statues  that  have  grown  there  since  you  looked  last, 
and  empty  niches,  and  a hundred  airy  canopies  be- 
neath which  carved  images  used  to  be,  and  where  they 
will  show  themselves  again,  if  you  gaze  long  enough. 
— But  I will  not  say  another  word  about  the  Cathe- 
dral. 

We  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  within  the  sombre 
precincts  of  the  Saracen’s  Head,  reading  yesterday’s 
‘‘  Times,”  The  Guide-Book  of  Lincoln,”  and  The 
Directory  of  the  Eastern  Counties.”  Dismal  as  the 
weather  was,  the  street  beneath  our  window  was  en- 
livened with  a great  bustle  and  turmoil  of  people  all 
the  evening,  because  it  was  Saturday  night,  and  they 
had  accomplished  their  week’s  toil,  received  their  wa- 
ges, and  were  making  their  small  purchases  against 
Sunday,  and  enjoying  themselves  as  well  as  they  knew 
how.  A band  of  music  passed  to  and  fro  several  times, 
with  the  rain-drops  falling  into  the  mouth  of  the  bra- 


184 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


zen  trumpet  and  pattering  on  the  bass-drum  ; a spirit- 
shop,  opposite  the  hotel,  had  a vast  run  of  custom; 
and  a coffee-dealer,  in  the  open  air,  found  occasional 
vent  for  his  commodity,  in  spite  of  the  cold  water  that 
dripped  into  the  cups.  The  whole  breadth  of  the 
street,  between  the  Stone  Bow  and  the  bridge  across 
the  Witham,  was  thronged  to  overflowing,  and  hum- 
ming with  human  life. 

Observing  in  the  Guide-Book  that  a steamer  runs  on 
the  river  Witham  between  Lincoln  and  Boston,  I in- 
quired of  the  waiter,  and  learned  that  she  was  to  start 
on  Monday  at  ten  o’clock.  Thinking  it  might  be  an 
interesting  trip,  and  a pleasant  variation  of  our  cus- 
tomary mode  of  travel,  we  determined  to  make  the 
voyage.  The  Witham  flows  through  Lincoln,  crossing 
the  main  street  under  an  arched  bridge  of  Gothic  con- 
struction, a little  below  the  Saracen’s  Head.  It  has 
more  the  appearance  of  a canal  than  of  a river,  in  its 
passage  through  the  town,  — being  bordered  with  hewn- 
stone  mason-work  on  each  side,  and  provided  with  one 
or  two  locks.  The  steamer  proved  to  be  small,  dirty, 
and  altogether  inconvenient.  The  early  morning  had 
been  bright ; but  the  sky  now  lowered  upon  us  with 
a sulky  English  temper,  and  we  had  not  long  put  off 
before  we  felt  an  ugly  wind  from  the  German  Ocean 
blowing  right  in  our  teeth.  There  were  a number  of 
passengers  on  board,  country-people,  such  as  travel  by 
third-class  on  the  railway ; for,  I suppose,  nobody  but 
ourselves  ever  dreamt  of  voyaging  by  the  steamer  for 
the  sake  of  what  he  might  happen  upon  in  the  way  of 
river-scenery. 

W e bothered  a good  while  about  getting  through  a 
preliminary  lock ; nor,  when  fairly  under  way,  did  we 
ever  accomplish,  I think,  six  miles  an  hour.  Constant 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


185 


delays  were  caused,  moreover,  by  stopping  to  take 
up  passengers  and  freight,  — not  at  regular  landing- 
places,  but  anywhere  along  the  green  banks.  The 
scenery  was  identical  with  that  of  the  railway,  because 
the  latter  runs  along  by  the  river  - side  through  the 
whole  distance,  or  nowhere  departs  from  it  except  to 
make  a short  cut  across  some  sinuosity ; so  that  our 
only  advantage  lay  in  the  drawling,  snail-like  sloth- 
fulness of  our  progress,  which  allowed  us  time  enough 
and  to  spare  for  the  objects  along  the  shore.  Unfor- 
tunately, there  was  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  to  be 
seen,  — the  country  being  one  unvaried  level  over  the 
whole  thirty  miles  of  our  voyage,  — not  a hill  in  sight 
either  near  or  far,  except  that  solitary  one  on  the  sum- 
mit of  which  we  had  left  Lincoln  Cathedral.  And 
the  Cathedral  was  our  landmark  for  four  hours  or 
more,  and  at  last  rather  faded  out  than  was  hidden  by 
any  intervening  object. 

It  would  have  been  a pleasantly  lazy  day  enough,  if 
the  rough  and  bitter  wind  had  not  blown  directly  in 
our  faces,  and  chilled  us  through,  in  spite  of  the  sun- 
shine that  soon  succeeded  a sprinkle  or  two  of  rain. 
These  English  east-winds,  which  prevail  from  Febru- 
ary till  June,  are  greater  nuisances  than  the  east- wind 
of  our  own  Atlantic  coast,  although  they  do  not  bring 
mist  and  storm,  as  with  us,  but  some  of  the  sunniest 
weather  that  England  sees.  Under  their  influence, 
the  sky  smiles  and  is  villanous. 

The  landscape  was  tame  to  the  last  degree,  but  had 
an  English  character  that  was  abundantly  worth  our 
looking  at.  A green  luxuriance  of  early  grass  ; old, 
high -roofed  farm-houses,  surrounded  by  their  stone 
barns  and  ricks  of  hay  and  grain  ; ancient  villages, 
with  the  square,  gray  tower  of  a church  seen  afar  over 


186 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


the  level  country,  amid  the  cluster  of  red  roofs ; here 
and  there  a shadowy  grove  of  venerable  trees,  sur- 
rounding what  was  perhaps  an  Elizabethan  hall, 
though  it  looked  more  like  the  abode  of  some  rich 
yeoman.  Once,  too,  we  saw  the  tower  of  a mediaeval 
castle,  that  of  Tattershall,  built  by  a Cromwell,  but 
whether  of  the  Protector’s  family  I cannot  tell.  But 
the  gentry  do  not  appear  to  have  settled  multitudi- 
nously  in  this  tract  of  country ; nor  is  it  to  be  won- 
dered at,  since  a lover  of  the  picturesque  would  as 
soon  think  of  settling  in  Holland.  The  river  retains 
its  canal-like  aspect  all  along ; and  only  in  the  latter 
part  of  its  course  does  it  become  more  than  wide 
enough  for  the  little  steamer  to  turn  itself  round,  — 
at  broadest,  not  more  than  twice  that  width. 

The  only  memorable  incident  of  our  voyage  hap- 
pened when  a mother-duck  was  leading  her  little  fleet 
of  five  ducklings  across  the  river,  just  as  our  steamer 
went  swaggering  by,  stirring  the  quiet  stream  into 
great  waves  that  lashed  the  banks  on  either  side.  I 
saw  the  imminence  of  the  catastrophe,  and  hurried  to 
the  stern  of  the  boat  to  witness  its  consummation, 
since  I could  not  possibly  avert  it.  The  poor  duck- 
lings had  uttered  their  baby-quacks,  and  striven  with 
all  their  tiny  might  to  escape ; four  of  them,  I believe, 
were  washed  aside  and  thrown  off  unhurt  from  the 
steamer’s  prow  ; but  the  fifth  must  have  gone  under 
the  whole  length  of  the  keel,  and  never  could  have 
come  up  alive. 

At  last,  in  mid-afternoon,  we  beheld  the  tall  tower 
of  Saint  Botolph’s  Church  (three  hundred  feet  high, 
the  same  elevation  as  the  tallest  tower  of  Lincoln  Ca- 
thedral) looming  in  the  distance.  At  about  half  past 
four  we  reached  Boston  (which  name  has  been  short* 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


187 


ened,  in  the  course  of  ages,  by  the  quick  and  slovenly 
English  pronunciation,  from  Botolph’s  town),  and 
were  taken  by  a cab  to  the  Peacock,  in  the  market- 
place. It  was  the  best  hotel  in  town,  though  a poor 
one  enough ; and  we  were  shown  into  a small,  stifled 
parlor,  dingy,  musty,  and  scented  with  stale  toba^cco- 
smoke,  — tobacco-smoke  two  days  old,  for  the  waiter 
assured  us  that  the  room  had  not  more  recently  been 
fumigated.  An  exceedingly  grim  waiter  he  was,  ap- 
parently a genuine  descendant  of  the  old  Puritans  of 
this  English  Boston,  and  quite  as  sour  as  those  who 
people  the  daughter-city  in  New  England.  Our  par- 
lor had  the  one  recommendation  of  looking  into  the 
market-place,  and  affording  a sidelong  glimpse  of  the 
tall  spire  and  noble  old  church. 

In  my  first  ramble  about  the  town,  chance  led  me 
to  the  river-side,  at  that  quarter  where  the  port  is  sit- 
uated. Here  were  long  buildings  of  an  old-fashioned 
aspect,  seemingly  warehouses,  with  windows  in  the 
high,  steep  roofs.  The  Custom  House  found  ample 
accommodation  within  an  ordinary  dwelling  - house. 
Two  or  three  large  schooners  were  moored  along  the 
river’s  brink,  which  had  here  a stone  margin  ; another 
large  and  handsome  schooner  was  evidently  just  fin- 
ished, rigged  and  equipped  for  her  first  voyage ; the 
rudiments  of  another  were  on  the  stocks,  in  a ship-yard 
bordering  on  the  river.  Still  another,  while  I was 
looking  on,  came  up  the  stream,  and  lowered  her 
mainsail,  from  a foreign  voyage.  An  old  man  on  the 
bank  hailed  her  and  inquired  about  her  cargo  ; but 
the  Lincolnshire  people  have  such  a queer  way  of 
talking  English  that  I could  not  understand  the  reply. 
Farther  down  the  river,  I saw  a brig,  approaching 
rapidly  under  sail.  The  whole  scene  made  an  odd 


188 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


impression  of  bustle,  and  sluggishness,  and  decay,  and 
a remnant  of  wholesome  life ; and  I could  not  but  con- 
trast it  with  the  mighty  and  populous  activity  of  our 
own  Boston,  which  was  once  the  feeble  infant  of  this 
old  English  town,  — the  latter,  perhaps,  almost  sta- 
tionary ever  since  that  day,  as  if  the  birth  of  such  an 
offspring  had  taken  away  its  own  principle  of  growth, 
I thought  of  Long  Wharf,  and  Faneuil  Hall,  and 
Washington  Street,  and  the  Great  Elm,  and  the  State 
House,  and  exulted  lustily,  — but  yet  began  to  feel 
at  home  in  this  good  old  town,  f(?r  its  very  name’s 
sake,  as  I never  had  before  felt,  in  England. 

The  next  morning  we  came  out  in  the  early  sun- 
shine (the  sun  must  have  been  shining  nearly  four 
hours,  however,  for  it  was  after  eight  o’clock),  and 
strolled  about  the  streets,  like  people  who  had  a right 
to  be  there.  The  market-place  of  Boston  is  an  irreg- 
ular square,  into  one  end  of  which  the  chancel  of 
the  church  slightly  projects.  The  gates  of  the  church- 
yard were  open  and  free  to  all  passengers,  and  the 
common  footway  of  the  towns-people  seems  to  lie  to 
and  fro  across  it.  It  is  paved,  according  to  English 
custom,  with  flat  tombstones ; and  there  are  also  raised 
or  altar  tombs,  some  of  which  have  armorial  bearings 
on  them.  One  clergyman  has  caused  himself  and  his 
wife  to  be  buried  right  in  the  middle  of  the  stone-bor- 
dered path  that  traverses  the  churchyard  ; so  that  not 
an  individual  of  the  thousands  who  pass  along  this 
public  way  can  help  trampling  over  him  or  her.  The 
scene,  nevertheless,  was  very  cheerful  in  the  morning 
sun : people  going  about  their  business  in  the  day’s 
primal  freshness,  which  was  just  as  fresh  here  as  in 
younger  villages  ; children  with  milk  - pails  loitering 
over  the  burial-stones ; school-boys  playing  leap-frog 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON, 


189 


with  the  altar-tombs  ; the  simple  old  town  preparing 
itself  for  the  day,  which  would  be  like  myriads  of 
other  days  that  had  passed  over  it,  but  yet  would  be 
worth  living  through.  And  down  on  the  churchyard, 
where  were  buried  many  generations  whom  it  remem- 
bered in  their  time,  looked  the  stately  tower  of  Saint 
Botolph ; and  it  was  good  to  see  and  think  of  such  an 
age-long  giant  intermarrying  the  present  epoch  with 
a distant  past,  and  getting  quite  imbued  with  human 
nature  by  being  so  immemorially  connected  with  men’s 
familiar  knowledge  and  homely  interests.  It  is  a 
noble  tower ; and  the  jackdaws,  evidently  have  pleas- 
ant homes  in  their  hereditary  nests  among  its  top- 
most windows,  and  live  delightful  lives,  flitting  and 
cawing  about  its  pinnacles  and  flying  buttresses.  I 
should  almost  like  to  be  a jackdaw  myself,  for  the 
sake  of  living  up  there. 

In  front  of  the  church,  not  more  than  twenty  yards 
off,  and  with  a low  brick  wall  between,  flows  the  river 
Witham.  On  the  hither  bank  a fisherman  was  v/ash- 
ing  his  boat ; and  another  skiff,  with  her  sail  lazily 
half  twisted,  lay  on  the  opposite  strand.  The  stream 
at  this  point  is  about  of  such  width,  that,  if  the  tall 
tower  were  to  tumble  over  flat  on  its  face,  its  top- 
stone  might  perhaps  reach  to  the  middle  of  the  chan- 
nel. On  the  farther  shore  there  is  a line  of  antique- 
looking houses,  with  roofs  of  red  tile,  and  windows 
opening  out  of  them,  — some  of  these  dwellings  be- 
ing so  ancient,  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Cotton,  subse- 
quently our  first  Boston  minister,  must  have  seen 
them  with  his  own  bodily  eyes  when  he  used  to  issue 
from  the  front -portal  after  service.  Indeed,  there 
must  be  very  many  houses  here,  and  even  some  streets, 
that  bear  much  the  aspect  that  they  did  when  the  Pu- 
ritan divine  paced  solemnly  among  them. 


190 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


In  our  rambles  about  town,  we  went  into  a book- 
seller’s shop  to  inquire  if  he  had  any  description  of 
Boston  for  sale.  He  offered  me  (or,  rather,  produced 
for  inspection,  not  supposing  that  I would  buy  it)  a 
quarto  history  of  the  town,  published  by  subscription, 
nearly  forty  years  ago.  The  bookseller  showed  him- 
self a well-informed  and  affable  man,  and  a local  anti- 
quary, to  whom  a party  of  inquisitive  strangers  were 
a godsend.  He  had  met  with  several  Americans,  who, 
at  various  times,  had  come  on  pilgrimages  to  this 
place,  and  he  had  been  in  correspondence  with  others. 
Happening  to  have  heard  the  name  of  one  member  of 
our  party,  he  showed  us  great  courtesy  and  kindness, 
and  invited  us  into  his  inner  domicile,  where,  as  he 
modestly  intimated,  he  kept  a few  articles  which  it 
might  interest  us  to  see.  So  we  went  with  him 
through  the  shop,  up  stairs,  into  the  private  part  of 
his  establishment ; and,  really,  it  was  one  of  the  rar- 
est adventures  I ever  met  with,  to  stumble  upon  this 
treasure  of  a man,  with  his  treasury  of  antiquities  and 
curiosities,  veiled  behind  the  unostentatious  front  of  a 
bookseller’s  shop,  in  a very  moderate  line  of  village 
business.  The  two  up-stair  rooms  into  which  he  intro- 
duced us  were  so  crowded  with  inestimable  articles, 
that  we  were  almost  afraid  to  stir  for  fear  of  breaking 
some  fragile  thing  that  had  been  accumulating  value 
for  unknown  centuries. 

The  apartment  was  hung  round  with  pictures  and 
old  engravings,  many  of  which  were  extremely  rare. 
Premising  that  he  was  going  to  show  us  something 
very  curious,  Mr.  Porter  went  into  the  next  room 
and  returned  with  a counterpane  of  fine  linen,  elabo- 
rately embroidered  with  silk,  wliich  so  profusely  cov- 
ered the  linen  that  the  general  effect  was  as  if  the 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


191 


main  texture  were  silken.  It  was  stained  and  seemed 
very  old,  and  had  an  ancient  fragrance.  It  was  wrought 
all  over  with  birds  and  flowers  in  a most  delicate  style 
of  needlework,  and  among  other  devices,  more  than 
once  repeated,  was  the  cipher,  M.  S.,  — being  the  ini- 
tials of  one  of  the  most  unhappy  names  that  ever  a 
woman  bore.  This  quilt  was  embroidered  by  the 
hands  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  during  her  imprison- 
ment at  Fotheringay  Castle;  and  having  evidently 
been  a work  of  years,  she  had  doubtless  shed  many 
tears  over  it,  and  wrought  many  doleful  thoughts  and 
abortive  schemes  into  its  texture,  along  with  the  birds 
and  flowers.  As  a counterpart  to  this  most  precious 
relic,  our  friend  produced  some  of  the  handiwork  of  a 
former  Queen  of  Otaheite,  presented  by  her  to  Cap- 
tain Cook ; it  was  a bag,  cunningly  made  of  some 
delicate  vegetable  stuff,  and  ornamented  with  feathers. 
Next,  he  brought  out  a green  silk  waistcoat  of  very 
antique  fashion,  trimmed  about  the  edges  and  pocket- 
holes  with  a rich  and  delicate  embroidery  of  gold  and 
silver.  This  (as  the  possessor  of  the  treasure  proved, 
by  tracing  its  pedigree  till  it  came  into  his  hands) 
was  once  the  vestment  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  Lord 
Burleigh  ; but  that  great  statesman  must  have  been  a 
person  of  very  moderate  girth  in  the  chest  and  waist ; 
for  the  garment  was  hardly  more  than  a comfortable 
fit  for  a boy  of  eleven,  the  smallest  American  of  our 
party,  who  tried  on  the  gorgeous  waistcoat.  Then, 
Mr.  Porter  produced  some  curiously  engraved  drink- 
ing-glasses, with  a view  of  Saint  Botolph’s  steeple  on 
one  of  them,  and  other  Boston  edifices,  public  or  do- 
mestic, on  the  remaining  two,  very  admirably  done. 
These  crystal  goblets  had  been  a present,  long  ago,  to 
an  old  master  of  the  Free  School  from  his  pupils ; and 


192 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON, 


it  is  very  rarely,  I imagine,  that  a retired  sclioolmas- 
ter  can  exhibit  such  trophies  of  gratitude  and  affec- 
tion, won  from  the  victims  of  his  birch  rod. 

Our  kind  friend  kept  bringing  out  one  unexpected 
and  wholly  unexpectable  thing  after  another,  as  if  he 
were  a magician,  and  had  only  to  fling  a private  sig- 
nal into  the  air,  and  some  attendant  imp  would  hand 
forth  any  strange  relic  he  might  choose  to  ask  for. 
He  was  especially  rich  in  drawings  by  the  Old  Mas- 
ters, producing  two  or  three,  of  exquisite  delicacy,  by 
Raphael,  one  by  Salvator,  a head  by  Rembrandt,  and 
others,  in  chalk  or  pen-and-ink,  by  Giordano,  Benve- 
nuto Cellini,  and  hands  almost  as  famous  ; and  besides 
what  were  shown  us,  there  seemed  to  be  an  endless 
supply  of  these  art-treasures  in  reserve.  On  the  wall 
hung  a crayon-portrait  of  Sterne,  never  engraved,  rep- 
resenting him  as  a rather  young  man,  blooming,  and 
not  uncomely ; it  was  the  worldly  face  of  a man  fond 
of  pleasure,  but  without  that  ugly,  keen,  sarcastic, 
odd  expression  that  we  see  in  his  only  engraved  por- 
trait. The  picture  is  an  original,  and  must  needs  be 
very  valuable ; and  we  wish  it  might  be  prefixed  to 
some  new  and  worthier  biography  of  a writer  whose 
character  the  world  has  always  treated  with  singular 
harshness,  considering  how  much  it  owes  him.  There 
was  likewise  a crayon-portrait  of  Sterne’s  wife,  look- 
ing so  haughty  and  unamiable,  that  the  wonder  is,  not 
that  he  ultimately  left  her,  but  how  he  ever  contrived 
to  live  a week  with  such  an  awful  woman. 

After  looking  at  these,  and  a great  many  more 
things  than  I can  remember,  above  stairs,  we  went 
down  to  a parlor,  where  this  wonderful  bookseller 
opened  an  old  cabinet,  containing  numberless  drawers, 
and  looking  just  fit  to  be  the  repository  of  such  knick- 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


193 


knacks  as  were  stored  up  in  it.  He  appeared  to  pos- 
sess more  treasures  than  he  himself  knew  of,  or  knew 
where  to  find;  hut,  rummaging  here  and  there,  he 
brought  forth  things  new  and  old : rose-nobles,  Victo- 
ria crowns,  gold  angels,  double  sovereigns  of  George 
IV.,  two  - guinea  pieces  of  George  II. ; a marriage- 
medal  of  the  first  Napoleon,  only  forty-five  of  which 
were  ever  struck  off,  and  of  which  even  the  British 
Museum  does  not  contain  a specimen  like  this,  in 
gold ; a brass  medal,  three  or  four  inches  in  diameter, 
of  a Roman  emperor;  together  with  buckles,  brace- 
lets, amulets,  and  I know  not  what  besides.  There 
was  a green  silk  tassel  from  the  fringe  of  Queen 
Mary’s  bed  at  Holyrood  Palace.  There  were  illumi- 
nated missals,  antique  Latin  Bibles,  and  (what  may 
seem  of  especial  interest  to  the  historian)  a Secret- 
Book  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  manuscript,  written,  for 
aught  I know,  by  her  own  hand.  On  examination, 
however,  it  proved  to  contain,  not  secrets  of  state,  but 
recipes  for  dishes,  drinks,  medicines,  washes,  and  all 
such  matters  of  housewifery,  the  toilet,  and  domestic 
quackery,  among  which  we  were  horrified  by  the  title  of 
one  of  the  nostrums,  “ How  to  kill  a Fellow  quickly” ! 
We  never  doubted  that  bloody  Queen  Bess  might 
often  have  had  occasion  for  such  a recipe,  but  won- 
dered at  her  frankness,  and  at  her  attending  to  these 
anomalous  necessities  in  such  a methodical  way.  The 
truth  is,  we  had  read  amiss,  and  the  Queen  had  spelt 
amiss:  the  word  was  ‘‘Fellon,”  — a sort  of  whitlow, 
— not  “ Fellow.” 

Our  hospitable  friend  now  made  us  drink  a glass 
of  wine,  as  old  and  genuine  as  the  curiosities  of  his 
cabinet ; and,  while  sipping  it,  we  ungratefully  tried 
to  excite  his  envy,  by  telling  him  various  things, 

VOL.  VII.  13 


194 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


interesting  to  an  antiquary  and  virtuoso,  which  we 
had  seen  in  the  course  of  our  travels  about  England. 
We  spoke,  for  instance,  of  a missal  bound  in  solid 
gold  and  set  around  with  jewels,  but  of  such  intrinsic 
value  as  no  setting  could  enhance,  for  it  was  exqui- 
sitely illuminated,  throughout,  by  the  hand  of  Raphael 
himself.  We  mentioned  a little  silver  case  which 
once  contained  a portion  of  the  heart  of  Louis  XIV. 
nicely  done  up  in  spices,  but,  to  the  owner’s  horror 
and  astonishment.  Dean  Buckland  popped  the  kingly 
morsel  into  his  mouth,  and  swallowed  it.  We  told 
about  the  black  - letter  prayer  - book  of  King  Charles 
the  Martyr,  used  by  him  upon  the  scaffold,  taking 
which  into  our  hands,  it  opened  of  itself  at  the  Com- 
munion Service ; and  there,  on  the  left  - hand  page, 
appeared  a spot  about  as  large  as  a sixpence,  of  a yel- 
lowish or  brownish  hue : a drop  of  the  king’s  blood 
had  fallen  there. 

Mr.  Porter  now  accompanied  us  to  the  church,  but 
first  leading  us  to  a vacant  spot  of  ground  where  old 
John  Cotton’s  vicarage  had  stood  till  a very  short 
time  since.  According  to  our  friend’s  description,  it 
was  a humble  habitation,  of  the  cottage  order,  built  of 
brick,  with  a thatched  roof.  The  site  is  now  rudely 
fenced  in,  and  cultivated  as  a vegetable  garden.  In 
the  right  - hand  aisle  of  the  church  there  is  an  ancient 
chapel,  which,  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  was  in  process 
of  restoration,  and  was  to  be  dedicated  to  Mr.  Cotton, 
whom  these  English  people  consider  as  the  founder  of 
our  American  Boston.  It  would  contain  a painted 
memorial-window,  in  honor  of  the  old  Puritan  minis- 
ter. A festival  in  commemoration  of  the  event  was  to 
take  place  in  the  ensuing  July,  to  which  I had  myself 
received  an  invitation,  but  I knew  too  well  the  pains 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


195 


and  penalties  incurred  by  an  invited  guest  at  public 
festivals  in  England  to  accept  it.  It  ought  to  be  re- 
corded (and  it  seems  to  have  made  a very  kindly 
impression  on  our  kinsfolk  here)  that  five  hundred 
pounds  had  been  contributed  by  persons  in  the  United 
States,  principally  in  Boston,  towards  the  cost  of  the 
memorial  - window,  and  the  repair  and  restoration  of 
the  chapel. 

After  we  emerged  from  the  chapel,  Mr.  Porter  ap- 
proached us  with  the  vicar,  to  whom  he  kindly  intro- 
duced us,  and  then  took  his  leave.  May  a stranger’s 
benediction  rest  upon  him  ! He  is  a most  pleasant 
man  ; rather,  I imagine,  a virtuoso  than  an  antiquary  ; 
for  he  seemed  to  value  the  Queen  of  Otaheite’s  bag  as 
highly  as  Queen  Mary’s  embroidered  quilt,  and  to 
have  an  omnivorous  appetite  for  everything  strange 
and  rare.  Would  that  we  could  fill  up  his  shelves  and 
drawers  (if  there  are  any  vacant  spaces  left)  with  the 
choicest  trifles  that  have  dropped  out  of  Time’s  carpet- 
bag,  or  give  him  the  carpet-bag  itself,  to  take  out 
what  he  will ! 

The  vicar  looked  about  thirty  years  old,  a gentle- 
man, evidently  assured  of  his  position  (as  clergymen 
of  the  Established  Church  invariably  are),  comfortable 
and  well-to-do,  a scholar  and  a Christian,  and  fit  to  be 
a bishop,  knowing  how  to  make  the  most  of  life  with- 
out prejudice  to  the  life  to  come.  I was  glad  to  see 
such  a model  English  priest  so  suitably  accommodated 
with  an  old  English  church.  He  kindly  and  courte- 
ously did  the  honors,  showing  us  quite  round  the  inte- 
rior, giving  us  all  the  information  that  we  required, 
and  then  leaving  us  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  what 
we  came  to  see. 

The  interior  of  St.  Botolph’s  is  very  fine  and  satis- 


196 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON, 


factory,  as  stately,  almost,  as  a cathedral,  and  has  been 
repaired  — so  far  as  repairs  were  necessary  — in  a 
chaste  and  noble  style.  The  great  eastern  window  is 
of  modern  painted  glass,  but  is  the  richest,  mellowest, 
and  tenderest  modern  window  that  I have  ever  seen : 
the  art  of  painting  these  glowing  transparencies  in 
pristine  perfection  being  one  that  the  world  has  lost. 
The  vast,  clear  space  of  the  interior  church  delighted 
me.  There  was  no  screen,  — nothing  between  the  ves- 
tibule and  the  altar  to  break  the  long  vista  ; even  the 
organ  stood  aside,  — though  it  by  and  by  made  us 
aware  of  its  presence  by  a melodious  roar.  Around 
the  walls  there  were  old  engraved  brasses,  and  a stone 
coffin,  and  an  alabaster  knight  of  Saint  J ohn,  and  an 
alabaster  lady,  each  recumbent  at  full  length,  as  large 
as  life,  and  in  perfect  preservation,  except  for  a slight 
modern  touch  at  the  tips  of  their  noses.  In  the  chan- 
cel we  saw  a great  deal  of  oaken  work,  quaintly  and 
admirably  carved,  especially  about  the  seats  formerly 
appropriated  to  the  monks,  which  were  so  contrived  as 
to  tumble  down  with  a tremendous  crash  if  the  occu- 
pant happened  to  fall  asleep. 

We  now  essayed  to  climb  into  the  upper  regions. 
Up  we  went,  winding  and  still  winding  round  the  cir- 
cular stairs,  till  we  came  to  the  gallery  beneath  the 
stone  roof  of  the  tower,  whence  we  could  look  down 
and  see  the  raised  Font,  and  my  Talma  lying  on  one 
of  the  steps,  and  looking  about  as  big  as  a pocket- 
handkerchief.  Then  up  again,  up,  up,  up,  through  a 
yet  smaller  staircase,  till  we  emerged  into  another 
stone  gallery,  above  the  jackdaws,  and  far  above  the 
roof  beneath  which  we  had  before  made  a halt.  Then 
up  another  flight,  which  led  us  into  a pinnacle  of  the 
temple,  but  not  the  highest ; so,  retracing  our  steps, 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


197 


we  took  the  right  turret  this  time,  and  emerged  into 
the  loftiest  lantern,  where  we  saw  level  Lincolnshire, 
far  and  near,  though  with  a haze  on  the  distant  hori- 
zon. There  were  dusty  roads,  a river,  and  canals,  con- 
verging towards  Boston,  which  — a congregation  of 
red  - tiled  roofs  — lay  beneath  our  feet,  with  pygmy 
people  creeping  about  its  narrow  streets.  We  were 
three  hundred  feet  aloft,  and  the  pinnacle  on  which 
we  stood  is  a landmark  forty  miles  at  sea. 

Content,  and  weary  of  our  elevation,  we  descended 
the  corkscrew  stairs  and  left  the  church ; the  last  ob- 
ject that  we  noticed  in  the  interior  being  a bird,  which 
appeared  to  be  at  home  there,  and  responded  with  its 
cheerful  notes  to  the  swell  of  the  organ.  Pausing  on 
the  church-steps,  we  observed  that  there  were  formerly 
two  statues,  one  on  each  side  of  the  doorway  ; the  can- 
opies still  remaining  and  the  pedestals  being  about  a 
yard  from  the  ground.  Some  of  Mr.  Cotton’s  Puri- 
tan parishioners  are  probably  responsible  for  the  dis- 
appearance of  these  stone  saints.  This  doorway  at 
the  base  of  the  tower  is  now  much  dilapidated,  but 
must  once  have  been  very  rich  and  of  a peculiar  fash- 
ion. It  opens  its  arch  through  a great  square  tablet 
of  stone,  reared  against  the  front  of  the  tower.  On 
most  of  the  projections,  whether  on  the  tower  or  about 
the  body  of  the  church,  there  are  gargoyles  of  genu- 
ine Gothic  grotesqueness,  — fiends,  beasts,  angels,  and 
combinations  of  all  three  ; and  where  portions  of  the 
edifice  are  restored,  the  modern  sculptors  have  tried 
to  imitate  these  wild  fantasies,  but  with  very  poor  suc- 
cess, Extravagance  and  absurdity  have  still  their  law, 
and  should  pay  as  rigid  obedience  to  it  as  the  prim- 
mest things  on  earth. 

In  our  further  rambles  about  Boston,  we  crossed 


198  PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 

the  river  by  a bridge,  and  observed  that  the  larger 
part  of  the  town  seems  to  lie  on  that  side  of  its  navi- 
gable stream.  The  crooked  streets  and  narrow  lanes 
reminded  me  much  of  Hanover  Street,  Ann  Street, 
and  other  portions  of  the  North  End\)f  our  American 
Boston,  as  I remember  that  picturesque  region  in  my 
boyish  days.  It  is  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that 
the  local  habits  and  recollections  of  the  first  settlers 
may  have  had  some  influence  on  the  physical  char- 
acter of  the  streets  and  houses  in  the  New  England 
metropolis  ; at  any  rate,  here  is  a similar  intricacy  of 
bewildering  lanes,  and  numbers  of  old  peaked  and  pro- 
jecting-storied  dwellings,  such  as  I used  to  see  there. 
It  is  singular  what  a home-feeling  and  sense  of  kin- 
dred I derived  from  this  hereditary  connection  and 
fancied  physiognomical  resemblance  between  the  old 
town  and  its  well-grown  daughter,  and  how  reluctant 
I was,  after  chill  years  of  banishment,  to  leave  this 
hospitable  place,  on  that  account.  Moreover,  it  re- 
called some  of  the  features  of  another  American  town, 
my  own  dear  native  place,  when  I saw  the  seafaring 
people  leaning  against  posts,  and  sitting  on  planks, 
under  the  lee  of  warehouses,  — or  lolling  on  long- 
boats, drawn  up  high  and  dry,  as  sailors  and  old  wharf- 
rats  are  accustomed  to  do,  in  seaports  of  little  busi- 
ness. In  other  respects,  the  English  town  is  more 
village-like  than  either  of  the  American  ones.  The 
women  and  budding  girls  chat  together  at  their  doors, 
and  exchange  merry  greetings  with  young  men  ; chil- 
dren chase  one  another  in  the  summer  twilight ; school- 
boys sail  little  boats  on  the  river,  or  play  at  marbles 
across  the  flat  tombstones  in  the  churchyard  ; and  an- 
cient men,  in  breeches  and  long  waistcoats,  wander 
slowly  about  the  streets,  with  a certain  familiarity  of 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


199 


deportment,  as  if  each  one  were  everybody’s  grand- 
father. I have  frequently  observed,  in  old  English 
towns,  that  Old  Age  comes  forth  more  cheerfully  and 
genially  into  the  sunshine  than  among  ourselves,  where 
the  rush,  stir,  bustle,  and  irreverent  energy  of  youth 
are  so  preponderant,  that  the  poor,  forlorn  grandsires 
begin  to  doubt  whether  they  have  a right  to  breathe  in 
such  a world  any  longer,  and  so  hide  their  silvery  heads 
in  solitude.  Speaking  of  old  men,  I am  reminded  of 
the  scholars  of  the  Boston  Charity  School,  who  walk 
about  in  antique,  long-skirted  blue  coats,  and  knee- 
breeches,  and  with  bands  at  their  necks,  — perfect  and 
grotesque  pictures  of  the  costume  of  three  centuries 
ago. 

On  the  morning  of  our  departure,  I looked  from  the 
parlor-window  of  the  Peacock  into  the  market-place, 
and  beheld  its  irregular  square  already  well  covered 
with  booths,  and  more  in  process  of  being  put  up,  by 
stretching  tattered  sail-cloth  on  poles.  It  was  market- 
day.  The  dealers  were  arranging  their  commodities, 
consisting  chiefly  of  vegetables,  the  great  bulk  of  which 
seemed  to  be  cabbages.  Later  in  the  forenoon  there 
was  a much  greater  variety  of  merchandise  : basket- 
work,  both  for  fancy  and  use ; twig-brooms,  beehives, 
oranges,  rustic  attire  ; all  sorts  of  things,  in  short,  that 
are  commonly  sold  at  a rural  fair.  I heard  the  lowing 
of  cattle,  too,  and  the  bleating  of  sheep,  and  found 
that  there  was  a market  for  cows,  oxen,  and  pigs,  in 
another  part  of  the  town.  A crowd  of  towns-people 
and  Lincolnshire  yeomen  elbowed  one  another  in  the 
square  ; Mr.  Punch  was  squeaking  in  one  corner,  and 
a vagabond  juggler  tried  to  And  space  for  his  exhibi- 
tion in  another : so  that  my  flnal  glimpse  of  Boston 
was  calculated  to  leave  a livelier  impression  than  my 


200 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  OLD  BOSTON. 


former  ones.  Meanwhile  the  tower  of  Saint  Botolph’s 
looked  benignantly  down;  and  I fancied  it  was  bid- 
ding me  farewell,  as  it  did  Mr.  Cotton,  two  or  three 
hundred  years  ago,  and  telling  me  to  describe  its  ven- 
erable height,  and  the  town  beneath  it,  to  the  people 
of  the  American  city,  who  are  partly  akin,  if  not  to  the 
living  inhabitants  of  Old  Boston,  yet  to  some  of  the 
dust  that  lies  in  its  churchyard. 

One  thing  more.  They  have  a Bunker  Hill  in  the 
vicinity  of  their  town ; and  (what  could  hardly  be  ex- 
pected of  an  English  community)  seem  proud  to  think 
that  their  neighborhood  has  given  name  to  our  first 
and  most  widely  celebrated  and  best  remembered  bat- 
tle-field. 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


On  a fine  morning  in  September  we  set  out  on  an 
excursion  to  Blenheim, — the  sculptor  and  myself  being 
seated  on  the  box  of  our  four-horse  carriage,  two  more 
of  the  party  in  the  dicky,  and  the  others  less  agreeably 
accommodated  inside.  W e had  no  coachman,  but  two 
postilions  in  short  scarlet  jackets  and  leather  breeches 
with  top-boots,  each  astride  of  a horse ; so  that,  all  the 
way  along,  when  not  otherwise  attracted,  we  had  the 
interesting  spectacle  of  their  up-and-down  bobbing  in 
the  saddle.  It  was  a sunny  and  beautiful  day,  a speci- 
men of  the  perfect  English  weather,  just  Warm  enough 
for  comfort,  — indeed,  a little  too  warm,  perhaps,  in 
the  noontide  sun,  — yet  retaining  a mere  spice  or 
suspicion  of  austerity,  which  made  it  all  the  more  en- 
joyable. 

The  country  between  Oxford  and  Blenheim  is  not 
particularly  interesting,  being  almost  level,  or  undulat- 
ing very  slightly ; nor  is  Oxfordshire,  agriculturally, 
a rich  part  of  England.  We  saw  one  or  two  hamlets, 
and  I especially  remember  a picturesque  old  gabled 
house  at  a turnpike-gate,  and,  altogether,  the  wayside 
scenery  had  an  aspect  of  old-fashioned  English  life  ; 
but  there  was  nothing  very  memorable  till  we  reached 
Woodstock,  and  stopped  to  water  our  horses  at  the 
Black  Bear.  This  neighborhood  is  called  New  Wood- 
stock,  but  has  by  no  means  the  brand-new  appearance 
of  an  American  town,  being  a large  village  of  stone 
houses,  most  of  them  pretty  well  time-worn  and 


202 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


weather-stained.  The  Black  Bear  is  an  ancient  inn, 
large  and  respectable,  with  balustraded  staircases,  and 
intricate  passages  and  corridors,  and  queer  old  pic- 
tures and  engravings  hanging  in  the  entries  and  apart- 
ments. We  ordered  a lunch  (the  most  delightful  of 
English  institutions,  next  to  dinner)  to  be  ready 
against  our  return,  and  then  resumed  our  drive  to 
Blenheim. 

The  park-gate  of  Blenheim  stands  close  to  the  end 
of  the  village  street  of  Woodstock.  Immediately  on 
passing  through  its  portals  we  saw  the  stately  palace 
in  the  distance,  but  made  a wide  circuit  of  the  park 
before  approaching  it.  This  noble  park  contains  three 
thousand  acres  of  land,  and  is  fourteen  miles  in  cir- 
cumference. Having  been,  in  part,  a royal  domain 
before  it  was  granted  to  the  Marlborough  family,  it 
contains  many  trees  of  unsurpassed  antiquity,  and  has 
doubtless  been  the  haunt  of  game  and  deer  for  cen- 
turies. We  saw  pheasants  in  abundance,  feeding  in 
the  open  lawns  and  glades ; and  the  stags  tossed  their 
antlers  and  bounded  away,  not  affrighted,  but  only 
shy  and  gamesome,  as  we  drove  by.  It  is  a magnif- 
icent pleasure-ground,  not  too  tamely  kept,  nor  rigidly 
subjected  within  rule,  but  vast  enough  to  have  lapsed 
back  into  nature  again,  after  all  the  pains  that  the 
landscape-gardeners  of  Queen  Anne’s  time  bestowed 
on  it,  when  the  domain  of  Blenheim  was  scientifically 
laid  out.  The  great,  knotted,  slanting  trunks  of  the 
old  oaks  do  not  now  look  as  if  man  had  much  inter- 
meddled with  their  growth  and  postures.  The  trees 
of  later  date,  that  were  set  out  in  the  Great  Duke’s 
time,  are  arranged  on  the  plan  of  the  order  of  battle 
in  which  the  illustrious  commander  ranked  his  troops 
at  Blenheim  ; but  the  ground  covered  is  so  extensive, 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


203 


and  the  trees  now  so  luxuriant,  that  the  spectator  is 
not  disagreeably  conscious  of  their  standing  in  military 
array,  as  if  Orpheus  had  summoned  them  together  by 
beat  of  drum.  The  effect  must  have  been  very  formal 
a hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  but  has  ceased  to  be  so, 
— although  the  trees,  I presume,  have  kept  their  ranks 
with  even  more  fidelity  than  Marlborough’s  veterans 
did. 

One  of  the  park-keepers,  on  horseback,  rode  be- 
side our  carriage,  pointing  out  the  choice  views,  and 
glimpses  at  the  palace,  as  we  drove  through  the  do- 
main. There  is  a very  large  artificial  lake  (to  say 
the  truth,  it  seemed  to  me  fully  worthy  of  being  com- 
pared with  the  Welsh  lakes,  at  least,  if  not  with  those 
of  Westmoreland),  which  was  created  by  Capability 
Brown,  and  fills  the  basin  that  he  scooped  for  it,  just 
as  if  Nature  had  poured  these  broad  waters  into  one 
of  her  own  valleys.  It  is  a most  beautiful  object  at  a 
distance,  and  not  less  so  on  its  immediate  banks  ; for 
the  water  is  very  pure,  being  supplied  by  a small  river, 
of  the  choicest  transparency,  which  was  turned  thither- 
ward for  the  purpose.  And  Blenheim  owes  not  merely 
this  water-scenery,  but  almost  all  its  other  beauties,  to 
the  contrivance  of  man.  Its  natural  features  are  not 
striking ; but  Art  has  effected  such  wonderful  things 
that  the  uninstructed  visitor  would  never  guess  that 
nearly  the  whole  scene  was  but  the  embodied  thought 
of  a human  mind.  A skilful  painter  hardly  does  more 
for  his  blank  sheet  of  canvas  than  the  landscape-gar- 
dener, the  planter,  the  arranger  of  trees,  has  done  for 
the  monotonous  surface  of  Blenheim,  — making  the 
most  of  every  undulation,  — flinging  down  a hillock, 
a big  lump  of  earth  out  of  a giant’s  hand,  wherever 
it  was  needed,  — putting  in  beauty  as  often  as  there 


204 


l^EAR  OXFORD. 


was  a niche  for  it,  — opening  vistas  to  every  point 
that  deserved  to  he  seen,  and  throwing  a veil  of  im- 
penetrable foliage  around  what  ought  to  be  hidden  ; — 
and  then,  to  be  sure,  the  lapse  of  a century  has  soft- 
ened the  harsh  outline  of  man’s  labors,  and  has  given 
the  place  back  to  Nature  again  with  the  addition  of 
what  consummate  science  could  achieve. 

After  driving  a good  way,  we  came  to  a battle- 
mented  tower  and  adjoining  house,  which  used  to  be 
the  residence  of  the  Ranger  of  Woodstock  Park,  who 
held  charge  of  the  property  for  the  King  before  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough  possessed  it.  The  keeper  opened 
the  door  for  us,  and  in  the  entrance-hall  we  found  va- 
rious things  that  had  to  do  with  the  chase  and  wood- 
land sports.  We  mounted  the  staircase,  through  sev- 
eral stories,  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  whence  there 
was  a view  of  the  spires  of  Oxford,  and  of  points  much 
farther  off,  — very  indistinctly  seen,  however,  as  is 
usually  the  case  with  the  misty  distances  of  England. 
Returning  to  the  ground-floor,  we  were  ushered  into 
the  room  in  which  died  Wilmot,  the  wicked  Earl  of 
Rochester,  who  was  Ranger  of  the  Park  in  Charles 
II.’s  time.  It  is  a low  and  bare  little  room,  with  a 
window  in  front,  and  a smaller  one  behind  ; and  in  the 
contiguous  entrance-room  there  are  the  remains  of  an 
old  bedstead,  beneath  the  canopy  of  which,  perhaps, 
Rochester  may  have  made  the  penitent  end  that  Bishop 
Burnet  attributes  to  him.  I hardly  know  what  it  is, 
in  this  poor  fellow’s  character,  which  affects  us  with 
greater  tenderness  on  his  behalf  than  for  all  the  other 
profligates  of  his  day,  who  seem  to  have  been  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  himself.  I rather  suspect  that 
he  had  a human  heart  which  never  quite  died  out  of 
him,  and  the  warmth  of  which  is  still  faintly  percep' 
tible  amid  the  dissolute  trash  which  he  left  behind. 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


205 


Methinks,  if  such  good  fortune  ever  befell  a bookish 
man,  I should  choose  this  lodge  for  my  own  residence, 
with  the  topmost  room  of  the  tower  for  a study,  and 
all  the  seclusion  of  cultivated  wildness  beneath  to  ram- 
ble in.  There  being  no  such  possibility,  we  drove  on, 
catching  glimpses  of  the  palace  in  new  points  of  view, 
and  by  and  by  came  to  Rosamond’s  Well.  The  par- 
ticular tradition  that  connects  Fair  Rosamond  with  it 
is  not  now  in  my  memory  ; but  if  Rosamond  ever  lived 
and  loved,  and  ever  had  her  abode  in  the  maze  of 
Woodstock,  it  may  well  be  believed  that  she  and 
Henry  sometimes  sat  beside  this  spring.  It  gushes 
out  from  a bank,  through  some  old  stone-work,  and 
dashes  its  little  cascade  (about  as  abundant  as  one 
might  turn  out  of  a large  pitcher)  into  a pool,  whence 
it  steals  away  towards  the  lake,  which  is  not  far  re- 
moved. The  water  is  exceedingly  cold,  and  as  pure 
as  the  legendary  Rosamond  was  not,  and  is  fancied  to 
possess  medicinal  virtues,  like  springs  at  which  saints 
have  quenched  their  thirst.  There  were  two  or  three 
old  women  and  some  children  in  attendance  with  tum- 
blers, which  they  present  to  visitors,  full  of  the  con- 
secrated water ; but  most  of  us  filled  the  tumblers  for 
ourselves,  and  drank. 

Thence  we  drove  to  the  Triumphal  Pillar  which  was 
erected  in  honor  of  the  Great  Duke,  and  on  the  sum- 
mit of  which  he  stands,  in  a Roman  garb,  holding  a 
winged  figure  of  Victory  in  his  hand,  as  an  ordinary 
man  might  hold  a bird.  The  column  is  I know  not 
how  many  feet  high,  but  lofty  enough,  at  any  rate,  to 
elevate  Marlborough  far  above  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  to  be  visible  a long  way  ofE ; and  it  is  so  placed 
in  reference  to  other  objects,  that,  wherever  the  hero 
wandered  about  his  grounds,  and  especially  as  he  is- 


206 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


sued  from  his  mansion,  he  must  inevitably  have  been 
reminded  of  his  glory.  In  truth,  until  I came  to 
Blenheim,  I never  had  so  positive  and  material  an 
idea  of  what  Fame  really  is  — of  what  the  admiration 
of  his  country  can  do  for  a successful  warrior  — as  I 
carry  away  with  me  and  shall  always  retain.  Unless 
he  had  the  moral  force  of  a thousand  men  together, 
his  egotism  (beholding  himself  everywhere,  imbuing 
the  entire  soil,  growing  in  the  woods,  rippling  and 
gleaming  in  the  water,  and  pervading  the  very  air 
with  his  greatness)  must  have  been  swollen  within  him 
like  the  liver  of  a Strasburg  goose.  On  the  huge  tab- 
lets inlaid  into  the  pedestal  of  the  column,  the  entire 
Act  of  Parliament,  bestowing  Blenheim  on  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough  and  his  posterity,  is  engraved  in  deep 
letters,  painted  black  on  the  marble  ground.  The  pil- 
lar stands  exactly  a mile  from  the  principal  front  of 
the  palace,  in  a straight  line  with  the  precise  centre  of 
its  entrance-hall ; so  that,  as  already  said,  it  was  the 
Duke’s  principal  object  of  contemplation. 

We  now  proceeded  to  the  palace-gate,  which  is  a 
great  pillared  archway,  of  wonderful  loftiness  and 
state,  giving  admittance  into  a spacious  quadrangle. 
A stout,  elderly,  and  rather  surly  footman  in  livery 
appeared  at  the  entrance,  and  took  possession  of  what- 
ever canes,  umbrellas,  and  parasols  he  could  get  hold 
of,  in  order  to  claim  sixpence  on  our  departure.  This 
had  a somewhat  ludicrous  effect.  There  is  much  pub- 
lic outcry  against  the  meanness  of  the  present  Duke 
in  his  arrangements  for  the  admission  of  visitors 
(chiefly,  of  course,  his  native  countrymen)  to  view 
the  magnificent  palace  which  their  forefathers  be- 
stowed upon  his  own.  In  many  cases,  it  seems  hard 
that  a private  abode  should  be  exposed  to  the  intru- 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


207 


sion  of  the  public  merely  because  the  proprietor  has 
inherited  or  created  a splendor  which  attracts  general 
curiosity  5 insomuch  that  his  home  loses  its  sanctity 
and  seclusion  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  better  than 
other  men’s  houses.  But  in  the  case  of  Blenheim, 
the  public  have  certainly  an  equitable  claim  to  admis^ 
sion,  both  because  the  fame  of  its  first  inhabitant  is 
a national  possession,  and  because  the  mansion  was  a 
national  gift,  one  of  the  purposes  of  which  was  to  be 
a token  of  gratitude  and  glory  to  the  English  people 
themselves.  If  a man  chooses  to  be  illustrious,  he  is 
very  likely  to  incur  some  little  inconveniences  himself, 
and  entail  them  on  his  posterity.  Nevertheless,  his 
present  Grace  of  Marlborough  absolutely  ignores  the 
public  claim  above  suggested,  and  (with  a thrift  of 
which  even  the  hero  of  Blenheim  himself  did  not  set 
the  example)  sells  tickets  admitting  six  persons  at  ten 
shillings;  if  only  one  person  enters  the  gate,  he  must 
pay  for  six ; and  if  there  are  seven  in  company,  two 
tickets  are  required  to  admit  them.  The  attendants, 
who  meet  you  everywhere  in  the  park  and  palace,  ex- 
pect fees  on  their  own  private  account,  — their  noble 
master  pocketing  the  ten  shillings.  But,  to  be  sure, 
the  visitor  gets  his  money’s  worth,  since  it  buys  him 
the  right  to  speak  just  as  freely  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough as  if  he  were  the  keeper  of  the  Cremorne 
Gardens.^ 

Passing  through  a gateway  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  quadrangle,  we  had  before  us  the  noble  classic 

^ The  above  was  written  two  or  three  years  a^o,  or  more ; and  the 
Duke  of  that  day  has  since  transmitted  his  coronet  to  his  successor, 
who,  we  understand,  has  adopted  much  more  liberal  arrangements. 
There  is  seldom  anything  to  criticise  or  complain  of,  as  regards  the 
facility  of  obtaining  admission  to  interesting  private  houses  in  Eng- 
land. 


208 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


front  of  the  palace,  with  its  two  projecting  wings. 
We  ascended  the  lofty  steps  of  the  portal,  and  were 
admitted  into  the  entrance-hall,  the  height  of  which, 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  is  not  much  less  than  seventy 
feet,  being  the  entire  elevation  of  the  edifice.  The 
hall  is  lighted  by  windows  in  the  upper  story,  and,  it 
being  a clear,  bright  day,  was  very  radiant  with  lofty 
sunshine,  amid  which  a swallow  was  flitting  to  and 
fro.  The  ceiling  was  painted  by  Sir  James  Thorn- 
hill in  some  allegorical  design  (doubtless  commemora- 
tive of  Marlborough’s  victories),  the  purport  of  which 
I did  not  take  the  trouble  to  make  out,  — contenting 
myself  with  the  general  effect,  which  was  most  splen- 
didly and  effectively  ornamental. 

We  were  guided  through  the  show-rooms  by  a very 
civil  person,  who  allowed  us  to  take  pretty  much  our 
own  time  in  looking  at  the  pictures.  The  collection 
is  exceedingly  valuable,  — many  of  these  works  of 
Art  having  been  presented  to  the  Great  Duke  by  the 
crowned  heads  of  England  or  the  Continent.  One 
room  was  all  aglow  with  pictures  by  Rubens;  and 
there  were  works  of  Raphael,  and  many  other  famous 
painters,  any  one  of  which  would  be  sufficient  to  illus- 
trate the  meanest  house  that  might  contain  it.  I re- 
member none  of  them,  however  (not  being  in  a pic- 
ture-seeing mood),  so  well  as  Vandyck’s  large  and 
familiar  picture  of  Charles  I.  on  horseback,  with  a 
figure  and  face  of  melancholy  dignity  such  as  never 
by  any  other  hand  was  put  on  canvas.  Yet,  on  com 
sidering  this  face  of  Charles  (which  I find  often  re- 
peated in  half-lengths)  and  translating  it  from  the 
ideal  into  literalism,  I doubt  whether  the  unfortunate 
king  was  really  a handsome  or  impressive  - looking 
man : a high,  thin-ridged  nose,  a meagre,  hatchet  face, 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


209 


and  reddish  hair  and  beard,  — these  are  the  literal 
facts.  It  is  the  painter’s  art  that  has  thrown  such 
pensive  and  shadowy  grace  around  him. 

On  our  passage  through  this  beautiful  suite  of 
apartments,  we  saw,  through  the  vista  of  open  door- 
ways, a boy  of  ten  or  twelve  years  old  coming  towards 
us  from  the  farther  rooms.  He  had  on  a straw  hat, 
a linen  sack  that  had  certainly  been  washed  and  re- 
washed  for  a summer  or  two,  and  gray  trousers  a good 
deal  worn,  — a dress,  in  short,  which  an  American 
mother  in  middle  station  would  have  thought  too 
shabby  for  her  darling  school -boy’s  ordinary  wear. 
This  urchin’s  face  was  rather  pale  (as  those  of  Eng- 
glish  children  are  apt  to  be,  quite  as  often  as  our  own), 
but  he  had  pleasant  eyes,  an  intelligent  look,  and  an 
agreeable  boyish  manner.  It  was  Lord  Sunderland, 
grandson  of  the  present  Duke,  and  heir — though  not, 
I think,  in  the  direct  line  — of  the  blood  of  the  great 
Marlborough,  and  of  the  title  and  estate. 

After  passing  through  the  first  suite  of  rooms,  we 
were  conducted  through  a corresponding  suite  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  entrance  - hall.  These  latter 
apartments  are  most  richly  adorned  with  tapestries, 
wrought  and  presented  to  the  first  Duke  by  a sister- 
hood of  Flemish  nuns  ; they  look  like  great,  glowing 
pictures,  and  completely  cover  the  walls  of  the  rooms. 
The  designs  purport  to  represent  the  Duke’s  battles 
and  sieges ; and  everywhere  we  see  the  hero  himself, 
as  large  as  life,  and  as  gorgeous  in  scarlet  and  gold  as 
the  holy  sisters  could  make  him,  with  a three-cornered 
hat  and  flowing  wig,  reining  in  his  horse,  and  extend- 
ing his  leading  - staff  in  the  attitude  of  command. 
Next  to  Marlborough,  Prince  Eugene  is  the  most 
prominent  figure.  In  the  way  of  upholstery,  there 

VOL.  VII.  14 


210 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


can  never  have  been  anything  more  magnificent  than 
these  tapestries  ; and,  considered  as  works  of  Art,  they 
have  quite  as  much  merit  as  nine  pictures  out  of  ten. 

One  whole  wing  of  the  palace  is  occupied  by  the 
library,  a most  noble  room,  with  a vast  perspective 
length  from  end  to  end.  Its  atmosphere  is  brighter 
and  more  cheerful  than  that  of  most  libraries : a won- 
derful contrast  to  the  old  college-libraries  of  Oxford, 
and  perhaps  less  sombre  and  suggestive  of  thoughtful- 
ness than  any  large  library  ought  to  be  ; inasmuch  as 
so  many  studious  brains  as  have  left  their  deposit  on 
the  shelves  cannot  have  conspired  without  producing 
a very  serious  and  ponderous  result.  Both  walls  and 
ceiling  are  white,  and  there  are  elaborate  doorways 
and  fireplaces  of  white  marble.  The  floor  is  of  oak, 
so  highly  polished  that  our  feet  slipped  upon  it  as  if 
it  had  been  New  England  ice.  At  one  end  of  the 
room  stands  a statue  of  Queen  Anne  in  her  royal 
robes,  which  are  so  admirably  designed  and  exqui- 
sitely wrought  that  the  spectator  certainly  gets  a 
strong  conception  of  her  royal  dignity  ; while  the  face 
of  the  statue,  fleshy  and  feeble,  doubtless  conveys  a 
suitable  idea  of  her  personal  character.  The  marble 
of  this  work,  long  as  it  has  stood  there,  is  as  white  as 
snow  just  fallen,  and  must  have  required  most  faithful 
and  religious  care  to  keep  it  so.  As  for  the  volumes 
of  the  library,  they  are  wired  within  the  cases,  and 
turn  their  gilded  backs  upon  the  visitor,  keeping  their 
treasures  of  wit  and  wisdom  just  as  intangible  as  if 
still  in  the  unwrought  mines  of  human  thought. 

I remember  nothing  else  in  the  palace,  except  the 
ehapel,  to  which  we  were  conducted  last,  and  where 
we  saw  a splendid  monument  to  the  first  Duke  and 
Duchess,  sculptured  by  Bysbrach,  at  the  cost,  it  is 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


211 


said,  of  forty  thousand  pounds.  The  design  includes 
the  statues  of  the  deceased  dignitaries,  and  various  al- 
legorical flourishes,  fantasies,  and  confusions  ; and  be- 
neath sleep  the  great  Duke  and  his  proud  wife,  their 
veritable  bones  and  dust,  and  probably  all  the  Marl- 
boroughs  that  have  since  died.  It  is  not  quite  a com- 
fortable idea,  that  these  mouldy  ancestors  still  inhabit, 
after  their  fashion,  the  house  where  their  successors 
spend  the  passing  day;  but  the  adulation  lavished 
upon  the  hero  of  Blenheim  could  not  have  been  con- 
summated, unless  the  palace  of  his  lifetime  had  be- 
come likewise  a stately  mausoleum  over  his  remains, 
— and  such  we  felt  it  all  to  be,  after  gazing  at  his 
tomb. 

The  next  business  was  to  see  the  private  gardens. 
An  old  Scotch  under -gardener  admitted  us  and  led 
the  way,  and  seemed  to  have  a fair  prospect  of  earn- 
ing the  fee  all  by  himself ; but  by  and  by  another  re- 
spectable Scotchman  made  his  appearance  and  took 
us  in  charge,  proving  to  be  the  head-gardener  in  per- 
son. He  was  extremely  intelligent  and  agreeable, 
talking  both  scientifically  and  lovingly  about  trees 
and  plants,  of  which  there  is  every  variety  capable  of 
English  cultivation.  Positively,  the  Garden  of  Eden 
cannot  have  been  more  beautiful  than  this  private 
garden  of  Blenheim.  It  contains  three  hundred  acres, 
and  by  the  artful  circumlocution  of  the  paths,  and  the 
undulations,  and  the  skilfully  interposed  clumps  of 
trees,  is  made  to  appear  limitless.  The  sylvan  de- 
lights of  a whole  country  are  compressed  into  this 
space,  as  whole  fields  of  Persian  roses  go  to  the  con- 
coction of  an  ounce  of  precious  attar.  The  world 
within  that  garden-fence  is  not  the  same  weary  and 
dusty  world  with  which  we  outside  mortals  are  conver 


212 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


sant;  it  Is  a finer,  lovelier,  more  harmonious  Nature; 
and  the  Great  Mother  lends  herself  kindly  to  the  gar- 
dener’s will,  knowing  that  he  will  make  evident  the 
half-obliterated  traits  of  her  pristine  and  ideal  beauty, 
and  allow  her  to  take  all  the  credit  and  praise  to  her-^ 
self.  I doubt  whether  there  is  ever  any  winter  within 
that  precinct,  — any  clouds,  except  the  fleecy  ones  of 
summer.  The  sunshine  that  I saw  there  rests  upon 
my  recollection  of  it  as  if  it  were  eternal.  The  lawns 
and  glades  are  like  the  memory  of  places  where  one 
has  wandered  when  first  in  love. 

What  a good  and  happy  life  might  be  spent  in  a 
paradise  like  this ! And  yet,  at  that  very  moment, 
the  besotted  Duke  (ah  ! I have  let  out  a secret  which 
I meant  to  keep  to  myself ; but  the  ten  shillings  must 
pay  for  all)  was  in  that  very  garden  (for  the  guide 
told  us  so,  and  cautioned  our  young  people  not  to  be 
too  uproarious),  and,  if  in  a condition  for  arithmetic, 
was  thinking  of  nothing  nobler  than  how  many  ten- 
shilling  tickets  had  that  day  been  sold.  Republican 
as  I am,  1 should  still  love  to  think  that  noblemen 
lead  noble  lives,  and  that  all  this  stately  and  beautiful 
environment  may  serve  to  elevate  them  a little  way 
above  the  rest  of  us.  If  it  fail  to  do  so,  the  disgrace 
falls  equally  upon  the  whole  race  of  mortals  as  on 
themselves ; because  it  proves  that  no  more  favorable 
conditions  of  existence  would  eradicate  our  vices  and 
weaknesses.  How  sad,  if  this  be  so ! Even  a herd  of 
swine,  eating  the  acorns  under  those  magnificent  oaks 
of  Blenheim,  would  be  cleanlier  and  of  better  habits 
than  ordinary  swine. 

Well,  all  that  I have  written  is  pitifully  meagre,  as 
a description  of  Blenheim  ; and  I hate  to  leave  it  witR 
out  some  more  adequate  expression  of  the  noble  edi- 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


213 


fice,  with  its  rich  domain,  all  as  I saw  them  in  that 
beautiful  sunshine  ; for,  if  a day  had  been  chosen  out 
of  a hundred  years,  it  could  not  have  been  a finer  one. 
But  I must  give  up  the  attempt ; only  further  remark- 
ing that  the  finest  trees  here  were  cedars,  of  which  I 
saw  one  — and  there  may  have  been  many  such  — im- 
mense in  girth,  and  not  less  than  three  centuries  old. 
I likewise  saw  a vast  heap  of  laurel,  two  hundred  feet 
in  circumference,  all  growing  from  one  root ; and  the 
gardener  offered  to  show  us  another  growth  of  twice 
that  stupendous  size.  If  the  Great  Duke  himself  had 
been  buried  in  that  spot,  his  heroic  heart  could  not 
have  been  the  seed  of  a more  plentiful  crop  of  laurels. 

We  now  went  back  to  the  Black  Bear,  and  sat  down 
to  a cold  collation,  of  which  we  ate  abundantly,  and 
drank  (in  the  good  old  English  fashion)  a due  pro- 
portion of  various  delightful  liquors.  A stranger  in 
England,  in  his  rambles  to  various  quarters  of  the 
country,  may  learn  little  in  regard  to  wines  (for  the 
ordinary  English  taste  is  simple,  though  sound,  in  that 
particular),  but  he  makes  acquaintance  with  more 
varieties  of  hop  and  malt  liquor  than  he  previously 
supposed  to  exist.  I remember  a sort  of  foaming 
stuff,  called  hop-champagne,  which  is  very  vivacious, 
and  appears  to  be  a hybrid  between  ale  and  bottled 
cider.  Another  excellent  tipple  for  warm  weather  is 
concocted  by  mixing  brown-stout  or  bitter  ale  with 
ginger-beer,  the  foam  of  which  stirs  up  the  heavier 
liquor  from  its  depths,  forming  a compound  of  singu- 
lar vivacity  and  sufficient  body.  But  of  all  things 
ever  brewed  from  malt  (unless  it  be  the  Trinity  Ale  of 
Cambridge,  which  I drank  long  afterwards,  and  which 
Barry  Cornwall  has  celebrated  in  immortal  verse), 
commend  me  to  the  Archdeacon,  as  the  Oxford  schol 


214 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


ars  call  it,  in  honor  of  the  jovial  dignitary  who  first 
taught  these  erudite  worthies  how  to  brew  their  favor- 
ite nectar.  John  Barleycorn  has  given  his  very  heart 
to  this  admirable  liquor  ; it  is  a superior  kind  of  ale, 
the  Prince  of  Ales,  with  a richer  flavor  and  a mightier 
spirit  than  you  can  find  elsewhere  in  this  weary  world. 
Much  have  we  been  strengthened  and  encouraged  by 
the  potent  blood  of  the  Archdeacon ! 

A few  days  after  our  excursion  to  Blenheim,  the 
same  party  set  forth,  in  two  flies,  on  a tour  to  some 
other  places  of  interest  in  the  neighborhood  of  Oxford. 
It  was  again  a delightful  day ; and,  in  truth,  every 
day,  of  late,  had  been  so  pleasant  that  it  seemed  as  if 
each  must  be  the  very  last  of  such  perfect  weather ; 
and  yet  the  long  succession  had  given  us  confidence  in 
as  many  more  to  come.  The  climate  of  England  has 
been  shamefully  maligned,  its  sulkiness  and  asperities 
are  not  nearly  so  offensive  as  Englishmen  tell  us  (their 
climate  being  the  only  attribute  of  their  country  which 
they  never  overvalue)  ; and  the  really  good  summer- 
weather  is  the  very  kindest  and  sweetest  that  the 
world  knows. 

We  first  drove  to  the  village  of  Cumnor,  about  six 
miles  from  Oxford,  and  alighted  at  the  entrance  of 
the  church.  Here,  while  waiting  for  the  keys,  we 
looked  at  an  old  wall  of  the  churchyard,  piled  up  of 
loose  gray  stones,  which  are  said  to  have  once  formed 
a portion  of  Cumnor  Hall,  celebrated  in  Mickle’s  bal- 
lad and  Scott’s  romance.  The  hall  must  have  been 
in  very  close  vicinity  to  the  church,  — not  more  than 
twenty  yards  off ; and  1 waded  through  the  long,  dewj 
grass  of  the  churchyard,  and  tried  to  peep  over  the 
wall,  in  hopes  to  discover  some  tangible  and  traceable 
remains  of  the  edifice.  But  the  wall  was  just  too  high 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


215 


to  be  overlooked,  and  difficult  to  clamber  over  without 
tumbling  down  some  of  the  stones ; so  I took  the  word 
of  one  of  our  party,  who  had  been  here  before,  that 
there  is  nothing  interesting  on  the  other  side.  The 
churchyard  is  in  rather  a neglected  state,  and  seems 
not  to  have  been  mown  for  the  benefit  of  the  parson’s 
cow ; it  contains  a good  many  gravestones,  of  which  I 
remember  only  some  upright  memorials  of  slate  to  in- 
dividuals of  the  name  of  Tabbs. 

Soon  a woman  arrived  with  the  key  of  the^  church- 
door,  and  we  entered  the  simple  old  edifice,  which  has 
the  pavement  of  lettered  tombstones,  the  sturdy  pillars 
and  low  arches,  and  other  ordinary  characteristics  of 
an  English  country  church.  One  or  two  pews,  prob- 
ably those  of  the  gentlefolk  of  the  neighborhood,  were 
better  furnished  than  the  rest,  but  all  in  a modest 
style.  Near  the  high  altar,  in  the  holiest  place,  there 
is  an  oblong,  angular,  ponderous  tomb  of  blue  marble, 
built  against  the  wall,  and  surmounted  by  a carved 
canopy  of  the  same  material ; and  over  the  tomb,  and 
beneath  the  canopy,  are  two  monumental  brasses,  such 
as  we  oftener  see  inlaid  into  a church  pavement.  On 
these  brasses  are  engraved  the  figures  of  a gentleman 
in  armor,  and  a lady  in  an  antique  garb,  each  about  a 
foot  high,  devoutly  kneeling  in  prayer ; and  there  is  a 
long  Latin  inscription  likewise  cut  into  the  enduring 
brass,  bestowing  the  highest  eulogies  on  the  character 
of  Anthony  Forster,  who,  with  his  virtuous  dame,  lies 
buried  beneath  this  tombstone.  His  is  the  knightly 
figure  that  kneels  above  ; and  if  Sir  Walter  Scott  ever 
saw  this  tomb,  he  must  have  had  an  even  greater  than 
common  disbelief  in  laudatory  epitaphs,  to  venture  on 
depicting  Anthony  Forster  in  such  hues  as  blacken  him 
in  the  romance.  For  my  part,  I read  the  inscription 


216 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


in  full  faith,  and  believe  the  poor  deceased  gentleman 
to  be  a much-wronged  individual,  with  good  grounds 
for  bringing  an  action  of  slander  in  the  courts  above. 

But  the  circumstance,  lightly  as  we  treat  it,  has  its 
serious  moral.  What  nonsense  it  is,  this  anxiety,  which 
so  worries  us  about  our  good  fame,  or  our  bad  fame, 
after  death  ! If  it  were  of  the  slightest  real  moment, 
our  reputations  would  have  been  placed  by  Providence 
more  in  our  own  power,  and  less  in  other  people’s, 
than  we  now  find  them  to  be.  If  poor  Anthony  Fors- 
ter happens  to  have  met  Sir  W alter  in  the  other  world, 
I doubt  whether  he  has  ever  thought  it  worth  while 
to  complain  of  the  latter’s  misrepresentations. 

We  did  not  remain  long  in  the  church,  as  it  con- 
tains nothing  else  of  interest ; and,  driving  through  the 
village,  we  passed  a pretty  large  and  rather  antique- 
looking inn,  bearing  the  sign  of  the  Bear  and  Ragged 
Staff.  It  could  not  be  so  old,  however,  by  at  least  a 
hundred  years,  as  Giles  Gosling’s  time  ; nor  is  there 
any  other  object  to  remind  the  visitor  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  unless  it  be  a few  ancient  cottages,  that 
are  perhaps  of  still  earlier  date.  Cumnor  is  not  nearly 
so  large  a village,  nor  a place  of  such  mark,  as  one  an- 
ticipates from  its  romantic  and  legendary  fame ; but, 
being  still  inaccessible  by  railway,  it  has  retained  more 
of  a sylvan  character  than  we  often  find  in  English 
country  towns.  In  this  retired  neighborhood  the  road 
is  narrow  and  bordered  with  grass,  and  sometimes  in- 
terrupted by  gates ; the  hedges  grow  in  unpruned 
luxuriance ; there  is  not  that  close-shaven  neatness  and 
trimness  that  characterize  the  ordinary  English  land- 
scape. The  whole  scene  conveys  the  idea  of  seclusion 
and  remoteness.  We  met  no  travellers,  whether  on 
foot  or  otherwise. 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


217 


I cannot  very  distinctly  trace  out  this  day’s  pere- 
grinations ; but,  after  leaving  Cumnor  a few  miles  be- 
hind us,  I think  we  came  to  a ferry  over  the  Thames, 
where  an  old  woman  served  as  ferryman,  and  pulled  a 
boat  across  by  means  of  a rope  stretching  from  shore 
to  shore.  Our  two  vehicles  being  thus  placed  on  the 
other  side,  we  resumed  our  drive,  — first  glancing, 
however,  at  the  old  woman’s  antique  cottage,  with  its 
stone  floor,  and  the  circular  settle  round  the  kitchen 
fireplace,  which  was  quite  in  the  mediaeval  English 
style. 

We  next  stopped  at  Stanton  Harcourt,  where  we 
were  received  at  the  parsonage  with  a hospitality 
which  we  should  take  delight  in  describing,  if  it  were 
allowable  to  make  public  acknowledgment  of  the  pri- 
vate and  personal  kindnesses  which  we  never  failed  to 
find  ready  for  our  needs.  An  American  in  an  Eng- 
lish house  will  soon  adopt  the  opinion  that  the  English 
are  the  very  kindest  people  on  earth,  and  will  retain 
that  idea  as  long,  at  least,  as  he  remains  on  the  inner 
side  of  the  threshold.  Their  magnetism  is  of  a kind 
that  repels  strongly  while  you  keep  beyond  a certain 
limit,  but  attracts  as  forcibly  if  you  get  within  the 
magic  line. 

It  was  at  this  place,  if  I remember  right,  that  I 
heard  a gentleman  ask  a friend  of  mine  whether  he 
was  the  author  of  The  Red  Letter  A ” ; and,  after 
some  consideration  (for  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize 
his  own  book,  at  first,  under  this  improved  title),  our 
countryman  responded,  doubtfully,  that  he  believed 
so.  The  gentleman  proceeded  to  inquire  whether  our 
friend  had  spent  much  time  in  America,  — evidently 
thinking  that  he  must  have  been  caught  young,  and 
have  had  a tincture  of  English  breeding,  at  least,  if 


218 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


not  birth,  to  speak  the  language  so  tolerably,  and  ap- 
pear so  much  like  other  people.  This  insular  narrow- 
ness is  exceedingly  queer,  and  of  very  frequent  occur- 
rence, and  is  quite  as  much  a characteristic  of  men  of 
education  and  culture  as  of  clowns. 

Stanton  Harcourt  is  a very  curious  old  place.  It 
was  formerly  the  seat  of  the  ancient  family  of  Har- 
court,  which  now  has  its  principal  abode  at  Nuneham 
Courtney,  a few  miles  off.  The  parsonage  is  a relic 
of  the  family  mansion,  or  castle,  other  portions  of 
which  are  close  at  hand  ; for,  across  the  garden,  rise 
two  gray  towers,  both  of  them  picturesquely  venerable, 
and  interesting  for  more  than  their  antiquity.  One 
of  these  towers,  in  its  entire  capacity,  from  height  to 
depth,  constituted  the  kitchen  of  the  ancient  castle, 
and  is  still  used  for  domestic  purposes,  although  it 
has  not,  nor  ever  had,  a chimney ; or,  we  might  rather 
say,  it  is  itself  one  vast  chimney,  with  a hearth  of 
thirty  feet  square,  and  a flue  and  aperture  of  the  same 
size.  There  are  two  huge  fireplaces  within,  and  the 
interior  walls  of  the  tower  are  blackened  with  the 
smoke  that  for  centuries  used  to  gush  forth  from 
them,  and  climb  upward,  seeking  an  exit  through 
some  wide  air-holes  in  the  conical  roof,  full  seventy 
feet  above.  These  lofty  openings  were  capable  of  be- 
ing so  arranged,  with  reference  to  the  wind,  that  the 
cooks  are  said  to  have  been  seldom  troubled  by  the 
smoke  ; and  here,  no  doubt,  they  were  accustomed  to 
roast  oxen  whole,  with  as  little  fuss  and  ado  as  a mod- 
ern cook  would  roast  a fowl.  The  inside  of  the  tower 
is  very  dim  and  sombre  (being  nothing  but  rough 
stone  walls,  lighted  only  from  the  apertures  above 
mentioned),  and  has  still  a pungent  odor  of  smoke 
and  soot,  the  reminiscence  of  the  fires  and  feasts  of 


neah  oxford. 


219 


generations  that  have  passed  away.  Methinks  the  ex- 
tremest  range  of  domestic  economy  lies  between  an 
American  cooking-stove  and  the  ancient  kitchen,  sev- 
enty dizzy  feet  in  height  and  all  one  fireplace,  of  Stan- 
ton Harcourt. 

Now  — the  place  being  without  a parallel  in  Eng- 
land, and  therefore  necessarily  beyond  the  experience 
of  an  American  — it  is  somewhat  remarkable,  that, 
while  we  stood  gazing  at  this  kitchen,  I was  haunted 
and  perplexed  by  an  idea  that  somewhere  or  other  I 
had  seen  just  this  strange  spectacle  before.  The 
height,  the  blackness,  the  dismal  void,  before  my  eyes, 
seemed  as  familiar  as  the  decorous  neatness  of  my 
grandmother’s  kitchen ; only  my  unaccountable  mem- 
ory of  the  scene  was  lighted  up  with  an  image  of  lurid 
fires  blazing  all  round  the  dim  interior  circuit  of  the 
tower.  I had  never  before  had  so  pertinacious  an  at- 
tack, as  I could  not  but  suppose  it,  of  that  odd  state 
of  mind  wherein  we  fitfully  and  teasingly  remember 
some  previous  scene  or  incident,  of  which  the  one  now 
passing  appears  to  be  but  the  echo  and  reduplication. 
Though  the  explanation  of  the  mystery  did  not  for 
some  time  occur  to  me,  I may  as  well  conclude  the  mat- 
ter here.  In  a letter  of  Pope’s,  addressed  to  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  there  is  an  account  of  Stanton  Har- 
court (as  I now  find,  although  the  name  is  not  men- 
tioned), where  he  resided  while  translating  a part  of 
the  “ Iliad.”  It  is  one  of  the  most  admirable  pieces 
of  description  in  the  language, — playful  and  pictur- 
esque, with  fine  touches  of  humorous  pathos,  — and 
conveys  as  perfect  a picture  as  ever  was  drav/n  of  a de- 
cayed English  country-house  ; and  among  other  rooms, 
most  of  which  have  since  crumbled  down  and  disap- 
peared, he  dashes  off  the  grim  aspect  of  this  kitchen, 


220 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


— which,  moreover,  he  peoples  with  witches,  engaging 
Satan  himself  as  head-cook,  who  stirs  the  infernal  cal- 
drons that  seethe  and  bubble  over  the  fires.  This  let- 
ter, and  others  relative  to  his  abode  here,  were  very 
familiar  to  my  earlier  reading,  and,  remaining  still 
fresh  at  the  bottom  of  my  memory,  caused  the  weird 
and  ghostly  sensation  that  came  over  me  on  beholding 
the  real  spectacle  that  had  formerly  been  made  so 
vivid  to  my  imagination. 

Our  next  visit  was  to  the  church,  which  stands  close 
by,  and  is  quite  as  ancient  as  the  remnants  of  the  cas- 
tle. In  a chapel  or  side-aisle,  dedicated  to  the  Har- 
courts,  are  found  some  very  interesting  family  monu- 
ments, — and  among  them,  recumbent  on  a tombstone, 
the  figure  of  an  armed  knight  of  the  Lancastrian 
party,  who  was  slain  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  His 
features,  dress,  and  armor  are  painted  in  colors,  still 
wonderfully  fresh,  and  there  still  blushes  the  symbol 
of  the  Red  Rose,  denoting  the  faction  for  which  he 
fought  and  died.  His  head  rests  on  a marble  or  ala- 
baster helmet ; and  on  the  tomb  lies  the  veritable 
helmet,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  which  he  wore  in  battle, 

— a ponderous  iron  case,  with  the  visor  complete,  and 
remnants  of  the  gilding  that  once  covered  it.  The 
crest  is  a large  peacock,  not  of  metal,  but  of  wood. 
Very  possibly,  this  helmet  was  but  an  heraldic  adorn- 
ment of  his  tomb ; and,  indeed,  it  seems  strange  that 
it  has  not  been  stolen  before  now,  especially  in  Crom- 
well’s time,  when  knightly  tombs  were  little  respected, 
and  when  armor  was  in  request.  However,  it  is  need- 
less to  dispute  with  the  dead  knight  about  the  identity 
of  his  iron  pot,  and  we  may  as  well  allow  it  to  be  the 
very  same  that  so  often  gave  him  the  headache  in  his 
lifetime.  Leaning  against  the  wall,  at  the  foot  of  the 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


221 


tomb,  is  the  shaft  of  a spear,  with  a wofully  tattered 
and  utterly  faded  banner  appended  to  it,  — the  knightly 
banner  beneath  which  he  marshalled  his  followers  in 
the  field.  As  it  was  absolutely  falling  to  pieces,  1 
tore  off  one  little  bit,  no  bigger  than  a finger-nail,  and 
put  it  into  my  waistcoat-pocket ; but  seeking  it  subse^ 
quently,  it  was  not  to  be  found. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  little  chapel,  two  or 
three  yards  from  this  tomb,  is  another  monument,  on 
which  lie,  side  by  side,  one  of  the  same  knightly  race 
of  Harcourts,  and  his  lady.  The  tradition  of  the 
family  is,  that  this  knight  was  the  standard-bearer  of 
Henry  of  Richmond  in  the  Battle  of  Bosworth  Field  ; 
and  a banner,  supposed  to  be  the  same  that  he  carried, 
now  droops  over  his  effigy.  It  is  just  such  a colorless 
silk  rag  as  the  one  already  described.  The  knight  has 
the  order  of  the  Garter  on  his  knee,  and  the  lady  wears 
it  on  her  left  arm,  — an  odd  place  enough  fora  garter ; 
but,  if  worn  in  its  proper  locality,  it  could  not  be  dec- 
orously visible.  The  complete  preservation  and  good 
condition  of  these  statues,  even  to  the  minutest  adorn- 
ment of  the  sculpture,  and  their  very  noses,  — the 
most  vulnerable  part  of  a marble  man,  as  of  a living 
one,  — are  miraculous.  Except  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey, among  the  chapels  of  the  kings,  I have  seen  none 
so  well  preserved.  Perhaps  they  owe  it  to  the  loyalty 
of  Oxfordshire,  diffused  throughout  its  neighborhood 
by  the  influence  of  the  University,  during  the  great 
Civil  War  and  the  rule  of  the  Parliament.  It  speaks 
well,  too,  for  the  upright  and  kindly  character  of  this 
old  family,  that  the  peasantry,  among  whom  they  had 
lived  for  ages,  did  not  desecrate  their  tombs,  when  it 
might  have  been  done  with  impunity. 

There  are  other  and  more  recent  memorials  of  the 


222 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


Harcourts,  one  of  which  is  the  tomb  of  the  last  lord, 
who  died  about  a hundred  years  ago.  His  figure,  like 
those  of  his  ancestors,  lies  on  the  top  of  his  tomb,  clad, 
not  in  armor,  but  in  his  robes  as  a peer.  The  title 
is  now  extinct,  but  the  family  survives  in  a younger 
branch,  and  still  holds  this  patrimonial  estate,  though 
they  have  long  since  quitted  it  as  a residence. 

We  next  went  to  see  the  ancient  fish-ponds  apper- 
taining to  the  mansion,  and  which  used  to  be  of  vast 
dietary  importance  to  the  family  in  Catholic  times, 
and  when  fish  was  not  otherwise  attainable.  There 
are  two  or  three,  or  more,  of  these  reservoirs,  one  of 
which  is  of  very  respectable  size,  — large  enough,  in- 
deed, to  be  really  a picturesque  object,  with  its  grass- 
green  borders,  and  the  trees  drooping  over  it,  and  the 
towers  of  the  castle  and  the  church  refiected  within 
the  weed-grown  depths  of  its  smooth  mirror.  A sweet 
fragrance,  as  it  were,  of  ancient  time  and  present  quiet 
and  seclusion  was  breathing  all  around ; the  sunshine 
of  to-day  had  a mellow  charm  of  antiquity  in  its  bright- 
ness. These  ponds  are  said  still  to  breed  abimdance 
of  such  fish  as  love  deep  and  quiet  waters  ; but  I saw 
only  some  minnows,  and  one  or  two  snakes,  which  were 
lying  among  the  weeds  on  the  top  of  the  water,  sun- 
ning and  bathing  themselves  at  once. 

I mentioned  that  there  were  two  towers  remaining 
of  the  old  castle  : the  one  containing  the  kitchen  we 
have  already  visited  ; the  other,  still  more  interesting, 
is  next  to  be  described.  It  is  some  seventy  feet  high, 
gray  and  reverend,  but  in  excellent  repair,  though  I 
could  not  perceive  that  anything  had  been  done  to 
renovate  it.  The  basement  story  was  once  the  family 
chapel,  and  is,  of  course,  still  a consecrated  spot.  At 
one  corner  of  the  tower  is  a circular  turret,  within 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


223 


which  a narrow  staircase,  with  worn  steps  of  stone, 
winds  round  and  round  as  it  climbs  upward,  giving 
access  to  a chamber  on  each  floor,  and  finally  emerg- 
ing on  the  battlemented  roof.  Ascending  this  turret- 
stair,  and  arriving  at  the  third  story,  we  entered  a 
chamber,  not  large,  though  occupying  the  whole  area 
of  the  tower,  and  lighted  by  a window  on  each  side. 
It  was  wainscoted  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  dark 
oak,  and  had  a little  fireplace  in  one  of  the  corners. 
The  window-panes  were  small  and  set  in  lead.  The 
curiosity  of  this  room  is,  that  it  was  once  the  residence 
of  Pope,  and  that  he  here  wrote  a considerable  part  of 
the  translation  of  Homer,  and  likewise,  no  doubt,  the 
admirable  letters  to  which  I have  referred  above.  The 
room  once  contained  a record  by  himself,  scratched 
with  a diamond  on  one  of  the  window-panes  (since  re- 
moved for  safe-keeping  to  Nuneham  Courtney,  where 
it  was  shown  me),  purporting  that  he  had  here  fin- 
ished the  fifth  book  of  the  Iliad  ” on  such  a day. 

A poet  has  a fragrance  about  him,  such  as  no  other 
human  being  is  gifted  withal ; it  is  indestructible,  and 
clings  for  evermore  to  everything  that  he  has  touched. 
I was  not  impressed,  at  Blenheim,  with  any  sense  that 
the  mighty  Duke  still  haunted  the  palace  that  was 
created  for  him  ; but  here,  after  a century  and  a half, 
we  are  still  conscious  of  the  presence  of  that  decrepit 
little  figure  of  Queen  Anne’s  time,  although  he  was 
merely  a casual  guest  in  the  old  tower,  during  one  or 
two  summer  months.  However  brief  the  time  and 
slight  the  connection,  his  spirit  cannot  be  exorcised 
so  long  as  the  tower  stands.  In  my  mind,  moreover, 
Pope,  or  any  other  person  with  an  available  claim,  is 
right  in  adhering  to  the  spot,  dead  or  alive  ; for  I 
never  saw  a chamber  that  I should  like  better  to  in- 


224 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


habit,  — so  comfortably  small,  in  such  a safe  and  in- 
accessible seclusion,  and  with  a varied  landscape  from 
each  window.  One  of  them  looks  upon  the  church, 
close  at  hand,  and  down  into  the  green  churchyard, 
extending  almost  to  the  foot  of  the  tower  ; the  others 
have  views  wide  and  far,  over  a gently  undulating 
tract  of  country.  If  desirous  of  a loftier  elevation, 
about  a dozen  more  steps  of  the  turret-stair  will  bring 
the  occupant  to  the  summit  of  the  tower,  — where 
Pope  used  to  come,  no  doubt,  in  the  summer  evenings, 
and  peep  — poor  little  shrimp  that  he  was  ! — through 
the  embrasures  of  the  battlement. 

From  Stanton  Harcourt  we  drove  — I forget  how 
far  — to  a point  where  a boat  was  waiting  for  us  upon 
the  Thames,  or  some  other  stream  ; for  I am  ashamed 
to  confess  my  ignorance  of  the  precise  geographical 
whereabout.  We  were,  at  any  rate,  some  miles  above 
Oxford,  and,  I should  imagine,  pretty  near  one  of  the 
sources  of  England’s  mighty  river.  It  was  little  more 
than  wide  enough  for  the  boat,  with  extended  oars,  to 
pass,  — shallow,  too,  and  bordered  with  bulrushes  and 
water-weeds,  which,  in  some  places,  quite  overgrew  the 
surface  of  the  river  from  bank  to  bank.  The  shores 
were  flat  and  meadow-like,  and  sometimes,  the  boat- 
man told  us,  are  overflowed  by  the  rise  of  the  stream. 
The  water  looked  clean  and  pure,  but  not  particularly 
transparent,  though  enough  so  to  show  us  that  the  bot- 
tom is  very  much  weed  - grown  ; and  I was  told  that 
the  weed  is  an  American  production,  brought  to  Eng- 
land with  importations  of  timber,  and  now  threatening 
to  choke  up  the  Thames  and  other  English  rivers.  I 
wonder  it  does  not  try  its  obstructive  powers  upon  the 
Merrimack,  the  Connecticut,  or  the  Hudson,  — not  to 
speak  of  the  St.  Lawrence  or  the  Mississippi ! 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


225 


It  was  an  open  boat,  with  cushioned  seats  astern, 
comfortably  accommodating  our  party ; the  day  con- 
tinued sunny  and  warm,  and  perfectly  still ; the  boat- 
man, well  trained  to  his  business,  managed  the  oars 
skilfully  and  vigorously ; and  we  went  down  the 
stream  quite  as  swiftly  as  it  was  desirable  to  go,  the 
scene  being  so  pleasant,  and  the  passing  hours  so  thor- 
oughly agreeable.  The  river  grew  a little  wider  and 
deeper,  perhaps,  as  we  glided  on,  but  was  still  an  in- 
considerable stream : for  it  had  a good  deal  more  than 
a hundred  miles  to  meander  through  before  it  should 
bear  fleets  on  its  bosom,  and  reflect  palaces  and  tow- 
ers and  Parliament  houses  and  dingy  and  sordid  piles 
of  various  structure,  as  it  rolled  to  and  fro  with  the 
tide,  dividing  London  asunder.  Not,  in  truth,  that  I 
ever  saw  any  edifice  whatever  reflected  in  its  turbid 
breast,  when  the  sylvan  stream,  as  we  beheld  it  now, 
is  swollen  into  the  Thames  at  London. 

Once,  on  our  voyage,  we  had  to  land,  while  the 
boatman  and  some  other  persons  drew  our  skiff  round 
some  rapids,  which  we  could  not  otherwise  have  passed ; 
another  time,  the  boat  went  through  a lock.  We, 
meanwhile,  stepped  ashore  to  examine  the  ruins  of  the 
old  nunnery  of  Godstowe,  where  Fair  Eosamond  se- 
cluded herself,  after  being  separated  from  her  royal 
lover.  There  is  a long  line  of  ruinous  wall,  and  a 
shattered  tower  at  one  of  the  angles ; the  whole  much 
ivy-grown,  — brimming  over,  indeed,  with  clustering 
ivy,  which  is  rooted  inside  of  the  walls.  The  nunnery 
is  now,  I believe,  held  in  lease  by  the  city  of  Oxford, 
which  has  converted  its  precincts  into  a barn-yard. 
The  gate  was  under  lock  and  key,  so  that  we  could 
merely  look  at  the  outside,  and  soon  resmned  our 
places  in  the  boat. 

VOL.  VII. 


15 


226 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


At  three  o’clock  oi:  thereabouts  (or  sooner  or  later, 
— for  I took  little  heed  of  time,  and  only  wished  that 
these  delightful  wanderings  might  last  forever)  we 
reached  Folly  Bridge,  at  Oxford.  Here  we  took  pos- 
session  of  a spacious  barge,  with  a house  in  it,  and  a 
comfortable  dining-room  or  drawing-room  within  the 
house,  and  a level  roof,  on  which  we  could  sit  at  ease, 
or  dance  if  so  inclined.  These  barges  are  common  at 
Oxford,  — some  very  splendid  ones  being  owned  by 
the  students  of  the  different  colleges,  or  by  clubs.  They 
are  drawn  by  horses,  like  canal-boats ; and  a horse  be- 
ing attached  to  our  own  barge,  he  trotted  off  at  a rea- 
sonable pace,  and  we  slipped  through  the  water  behind 
him,  with  a gentle  and  pleasant  motion,  which,  save 
for  the  constant  vicissitude  of  cultivated  scenery,  was 
like  no  motion  at  all.  It  was  life  without  the  trouble 
of  living;  nothing  was  ever  more  quietly  agreeable. 
In  this  happy  state  of  mind  and  body  we  gazed  at 
Christ  Church  meadows,  as  we  passed,  and  at  the  re- 
ceding spires  and  towers  of  Oxford,  and  on  a good 
deal  of  pleasant  variety  along  the  banks : young  men 
rowing  or  fishing;  troops  of  naked  boys  bathing,  as 
if  this  were  Arcadia,  in  the  simplicity  of  the  Golden 
Age ; country-houses,  cottages,  water-side  inns,  all 
with  something  fresh  about  them,  as  not  being  sprin- 
kled with  the  dust  of  the  highway.  We  were  a large 
party  now;  for  a number  of  additional  guests  had 
joined  us  at  Folly  Bridge,  and  we  comprised  poets, 
novelists,  scholars,  sculptors,  painters,  architects,  men 
and  women  of  renown,  dear  friends,  genial,  outspoken, 
open-hearted  Englishmen,  — all  voyaging  onward  to- 
gether, like  the  wise  ones  of  Gotham  in  a bowl.  I re- 
member not  a single  annoyance,  except,  indeed,  that  a 
swarm  of  wasps  came  aboard  of  us  and  alighted  on  the 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


227 


head  of  one  of  our  young  gentlemen,  attracted  by  the 
scent  of  the  pomatum  which  he  had  been  rubbing  into 
his  hair.  He  was  the  only  victim,  and  his  small  trouble 
the  one  little  flaw  in  our  day’s  felicity,  to  put  us  in 
mind  that  we  were  mortal. 

Meanwhile  a table  had  been  laid  in  the  interior  of 
our  barge,  and  spread  with  cold  ham,  cold  fowl,  cold 
pigeon-pie,  cold  beef,  and  other  substantial  cheer,  such 
as  the  English  love,  and  Yankees  too, — besides  tarts, 
and  cakes,  and  pears,  and  plums,  — not  forgetting,  of 
course,  a goodly  provision  of  port,  sherry,  and  cham- 
pagne, and  bitter  ale,  which  is  like  mother’s  milk  to 
an  Englishman,  and  soon  grows  equally  acceptable  to 
his  American  cousin.  By  the  time  these  matters  had 
been  properly  attended  to,  we  had  arrived  at  that  part 
of  the  Thames  which  passes  by  Nuneham  Courtney,  a 
fine  estate  belonging  to  the  Harcourts,  and  the  present 
residence  of  the  family.  Here  we  landed,  and,  climb- 
ing a steep  slope  from  the  river-side,  paused  a moment 
or  two  to  look  at  an  architectural  object,  called  the 
Carfax,  the  purport  of  which  I do  not  well  understand. 
Thence  we  proceeded  onward,  through  the  loveliest 
park  and  woodland  scenery  I ever  saw,  and  under  as 
beautiful  a declining  sunshine  as  heaven  ever  shed 
over  earth,  to  the  stately  mansion-house. 

As  we  here  cross  a private  threshold,  it  is  not  allow- 
able to  pursue  my  feeble  narrative  of  this  delightful 
day  with  the  same  freedom  as  heretofore  ; so,  perhaps, 
1 may  as  well  bring  it  to  a close.  I may  mention, 
however,  that  I saw  the  library,  a fine,  large  apart- 
ment, hung  round  with  portraits  of  eminent  literary 
men,  principally  of  the  last  century,  most  of  whom 
were  familiar  guests  of  the  Harcourts.  The  house  it- 
self is  about  eighty  years  old,  and  is  built  in  the  clas- 


228 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


sic  style,  as  if  the  family  had  been  anxious  to  diverge 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  Gothic  picturesqueness  of 
their  old  abode  at  Stanton  Harcourt.  The  grounds 
were  laid  out  in  part  by  Capability  Brown,  and  seemed 
to  me  even  more  beautiful  than  those  of  Blenheimo 
Mason  the  poet,  a friend  of  the  house,  gave  the  design 
of  a portion  of  the  garden.  Of  the  whole  place  I will 
not  be  niggardly  of  my  rude  Transatlantic  praise,  but 
be  bold  to  say  that  it  appeared  to  me  as  perfect  as 
anything  earthly  can  be,  — utterly  and  entirely  fin- 
ished, as  if  the  years  and  generations  had  done  all 
that  the  hearts  and  minds  of  the  successive  owners 
could  contrive  for  a spot  they  dearly  loved.  Such 
homes  as  Nuneham  Courtney  are  among  the  splendid 
results  of  long  hereditary  possession  ; and  we  Republi- 
cans, whose  households  melt  away  like  new-fallen  snow 
in  a spring  morning,  must  content  ourselves  with  our 
many  counterbalancing  advantages,  — for  this  one,  so 
apparently  desirable  to  the  far-projecting  selfishness  of 
our  nature,  we  are  certain  never  to  attain. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  nevertheless,  that  Nune- 
ham Courtney  is  one  of  the  great  show-places  of  Eng- 
land. It  is  merely  a fair  specimen  of  the  better  class 
of  country-seats,  and  has  a hundred  rivals,  and  many 
superiors,  in  the  features  of  beauty,  and  expansive, 
manifold,  redundant  comfort,  which  most  impressed 
me.  A moderate  man  might  be  content  with  such  a 
home,  — that  is  all. 

And  now  I take  leave  of  Oxford  without  even  an  at- 
tempt to  describe  it,  — there  being  no  literary  faculty, 
attainable  or  conceivable  by  me,  which  can  avail  to 
put  it  adequately,  or  even  tolerably,  upon  paper.  It 
must  remain  its  own  sole  expression  ; and  those  whose 
sad  fortune  it  may  be  never  to  behold  it  have  no  bet- 


NEAR  OXFORD. 


229 


ter  resource  than  to  dream  about  gray,  weather-stained, 
ivy-grown  edifices,  wrought  with  quaint  Gothic  orna- 
ment, and  standing  around  grassy  quadrangles,  where 
cloistered  walks  have  echoed  to  the  quiet  footsteps 
of  twenty  generations,  — lawns  and  gardens  of  luxuri- 
ous repose,  shadowed  with  canopies  of  foliage,  and  lit 
up  with  sunny  glimpses  through  archways  of  great 
boughs,  — spires,  towers,  and  turrets,  each  with  its 
history  and  legend,  — dimly  magnificent  chapels,  with 
painted  windows  of  rare  beauty  and  brilliantly  diver- 
sified hues,  creating  an  atmosphere  of  richest  gloom, 
— vast  college-halls,  high-windowed,  oaken-panelled, 
and  hung  round  with  portraits  of  the  men,  in  every 
age,  whom  the  University  has  nurtured  to  be  illustri- 
ous, — long  vistas  of  alcoved  libraries,  where  the  wis- 
dom and  learned  folly  of  all  time  i^  shelved,  — kitch- 
ens (we  throw  in  this  feature  by  way  of  ballast,  and 
because  it  would  not  be  English  Oxford  without  its 
beef  and  beer),  with  huge  fireplaces,  capable  of  roast- 
ing a hundred  joints  at  once,  — and  cavernous  cellars, 
where  rows  of  piled-up  hogsheads  seethe  and  fume 
with  that  mighty  malt-liquor  which  is  the  true  milk 
of  Alma  Mater : make  all  these  things  vivid  in  your 
dream,  and  you  will  never  know  nor  believe  how  in- 
adequate is  the  result  to  represent  even  the  merest 
outside  of  Oxford. 

W e feel  a genuine  reluctance  to  conclude  this  ar- 
ticle without  making  our  grateful  acknowledgments, 
by  name,  to  a gentleman  whose  overflowing  kindness 
was  the  main  condition  of  all  our  sight-seeings  and 
enjoyments.  Delightful  as  will  always  be  our  recol- 
lection of  Oxford  and  its  neighborhood,  we  partly  sus- 
pect that  it  owes  much  of  its  happy  coloring  to  the 
genial  medium  through  which  the  objects  were  pre- 


230 


NEAR  OXFORD, 


sented  to  us,  — to  the  kindly  magic  of  a hospitality 
unsurpassed,  within  our  experience,  in  the  quality  of 
making  the  guest  contented  with  his  host,  with  him« 
self,  and  everything  about  him.  He  has  inseparably 
mingled  his  image  with  our  remembrance  of  the  Spires 
of  Oxford. 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


We  left  Carlisle  at  a little  past  eleven,  and  within 
the  half-hour  were  at  Gretna  Green.  Thence  we 
rushed  onward  into  Scotland  through  a flat  and  dreary 
tract  of  country,  consisting  mainly  of  desert  and  bog, 
where  probably  the  moss-troopers  were  accustomed  to 
take  refuge  after  their  raids  into  England.  Anon, 
however,  the  hills  hove  themselves  up  to  view,  occa- 
sionally attaining  a height  which  might  almost  be 
called  mountainous.  In  about  two  hours  we  reached 
Dumfries,  and  alighted  at  the  station  there. 

Chill  as  the  Scottish  summer  is  reputed  to  be,  we 
found  it  an  awfully  hot  day,  not  a whit  less  so  than 
the  day  before ; but  we  sturdily  adventured  through 
the  burning  sunshine  up  into  the  town,  inquiring  our 
way  to  the  residence  of  Burns.  The  street  leading 
from  the  station  is  called  Shakespeare  Street ; and  at 
its  farther  extremity  we  read  ‘‘  Burns  Street  ” on  a 
corner-house,  — the  avenue  thus  designated  having 
been  formerly  known  as  Mill-Hole  Brae.”  It  is  a 
vile  lane,  paved  with  small,  hard  stones  from  side  to 
side,  and  bordered  by  cottages  or  mean  houses  of 
whitewashed  stone,  joining  one  to  another  along  the 
whole  length  of  the  street.  With  not  a tree,  of  course, 
or  a blade  of  grass  between  the  paving  - stones,  the 
narrow  lane  w'as  as  hot  as  Tophet,  and  reeked  with 
a genuine  Scotch  odor,  being  infested  with  unwashed 
children,  and  altogether  in  a state  of  chronic  filth; 
although  some  women  seemed  to  be  hopelessly  scrub- 


232  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


bing  the  thresholds  of  their  wretched  dwellings.  1 
never  saw  an  outskirt  of  a town  less  fit  for  a poet’s 
residence,  or  in  which  it  would  be  more  miserable  for 
any  man  of  cleanly  predilections  to  spend  his  days. 

We  asked  for  Burns’s  dwelling;  and  a woman 
pointed  across  the  street  to  a two-story  house,  built  of 
stone,  and  whitewashed,  like  its  neighbors,  but  per- 
haps of  a little  more  respectable  aspect  than  most  of 
them,  though  I hesitate  in  saying  so.  It  was  not  a 
separate  structure,  but  under  the  same  continuous  roof 
with  the  next.  There  was  an  inscription  on  the  door, 
bearing  no  reference  to  Burns,  but  indicating  that  the 
house  was  now  occupied  by  a ragged  or  industrial 
school.  On  knocking,  we  were  instantly  admitted  by 
a servant-girl,  who  smiled  intelligently  when  we  told 
our  errand,  and  showed  us  into  a low  and  very  plain 
parlor,  not  more  than  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  square.  A 
young  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  a teacher  in  the 
school,  soon  appeared,  and  told  us  that  this  had  been 
Burns’s  usual  sitting-room,  and  that  he  had  written 
many  of  his  songs  here. 

She  then  led  us  up  a narrow  staircase  into  a little 
bedchamber  over  the  parlor.  Connecting  with  it, 
there  is  a very  small  room,  or  windowed  closet,  which 
Burns  used  as  a study ; and  the  bedchamber  itself  was 
the  one  where  he  slept  in  his  later  lifetime,  and  in 
which  he  died  at  last.  Altogether,  it  is  an  exceed- 
ingly unsuitable  place  for  a pastoral  and  rural  poet  to 
live  or  die  in,  — even  more  unsatisfactory  than  Shake- 
speare’s house,  which  has  a certain  homely  pictur- 
esqueness that  contrasts  favorably  with  the  suburban 
sordidness  of  the  abode  before  us.  The  narrow  lane, 
the  paving  - stones,  and  the  contiguity  of  wretched 
hovels  are  depressing  to  remember ; and  the  steam  of 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  233 


them  (such  is  our  human  weakness)  might  almost 
make  the  poet’s  memory  less  fragrant. 

As  already  observed,  it  was  an  intolerably  hot  day. 
After  leaving  the  house,  we  found  our  way  into  the 
principal  street  of  the  town,  which,  it  may  be  fair  to 
say,  is  of  very  different  aspect  from  the  wretched  out- 
skirt  above  described.  Entering  a hotel  (in  which, 
as  a Dumfries  guide-book  assured  us.  Prince  Charles 
Edward  had  once  spent  a night),  we  rested  and  re- 
freshed ourselves,  and  then  set  forth  in  quest  of  the 
mausoleum  of  Burns. 

Coming  to  St.  Michael’s  Church,  we  saw  a man 
digging  a grave,  and,  scrambling  out  of  the  hole,  he 
let  us  into  the  churchyard,  which  was  crowded  full  of 
monuments.  Their  general  shape  and  construction 
are  peculiar  to  Scotland,  being  a perpendicular  tablet 
of  marble  or  other  stone,  within  a framework  of  the 
same  material,  somewhat  resembling  the  frame  of  a 
looking-glass ; and,  all  over  the  churchyard,  these  se- 
pulchral memorials  rise  to  the  height  of  ten,  fifteen, 
or  twenty  feet,  forming  quite  an  imposing  collection  of 
monuments,  but  inscribed  with  names  of  small  general 
significance.  It  was  easy,  indeed,  to  ascertain  the 
rank  of  those  who  slept  below ; for  in  Scotland  it  is 
the  custom  to  put  the  occupation  of  the  buried  person- 
age (as  “ Skinner,”  Shoemaker,”  ‘‘  Flesher  ”)  on  his 
tombstone.  As  another  peculiarity,  wives  are  buried 
under  their  maiden  names,  instead  of  those  of  their 
husbands , thus  giving  a disagreeable  impression  that 
the  married  pair  have  bidden  each  other  an  eternal 
farewell  on  the  edge  of  the  grave. 

There  was  a foot-path  through  this  crowded  church 
yard,  sufficiently  well  worn  to  guide  us  to  the  grave  of 
Burns ; but  a woman  followed  behind  us,  who,  it  ap- 


234  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


peared,  kept  the  key  of  the  mausoleum,  and  was  priv- 
ileged to  show  it  to  strangers.  The  monument  is  a 
sort  of  Grecian  temple,  with  pilasters  and  a dome, 
covering  a space  of  about  twenty  feet  square.  It  was 
formerly  open  to  all  the  inclemencies  of  the  Scotch 
atmosphere,  but  is  now  protected  and  shut  in  by  large 
squares  of  rough  glass,  each  pane  being  of  the  size  of 
one  whole  side  of  the  structure.  The  woman  unlocked 
the  door,  and  admitted  us  into  the  interior.  Inlaid 
into  the  floor  of  the  mausoleum  is  the  gravestone  of 
Burns,  — the  very  same  that  was  laid  over  his  grave 
by  Jean  Armour,  before  this  monument  was  built. 
Displayed  against  the  surrounding  wall  is  a marble 
statue  of  Burns  at  the  plough,  with  the  Genius  of  Cal- 
edonia summoning  the  ploughman  to  turn  poet.  Me- 
thought  it  was  not  a very  successful  piece  of  work ; 
for  the  plough  was  better  sculptured  than  the  man, 
and  the  man,  though  heavy  and  cloddish,  was  more 
effective  than  the  goddess.  Our  guide  informed  us 
that  an  old  man  of  ninety,  who  knew  Burns,  certifies 
this  statue  to  be  very  like  the  original. 

The  bones  of  the  poet,  and  of  J ean  Armour,  and  of 
some  of  their  children,  lie  in  the  vault  over  which  we 
stood.  Our  guide  (who  was  intelligent,  in  her  own 
plain  way.  and  very  agreeable  to  talk  withal)  said 
that  the  vault  was  opened  about  three  weeks  ago,  on 
occasion  of  the  burial  of  the  eldest  son  of  Burns.  The 
poet’s  bones  were  disturbed,  and  the  dry  skull,  once  so 
brimming  over  with  powerful  thought  and  bright  and 
tender  fantasies,  was  taken  away,  and  kept  for  several 
days  by  a Dumfries  doctor.  It  has  since  been  depos- 
ited in  a new  leaden  coffin,  and  restored  to  the  vault. 
We  learned  that  there  is  a surviving  daughter  of 
Burns’s  eldest  son,  and  daughters  likewise  of  the  two 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  235 


younger  sons,  — and,  besides  these,  an  illegitimate 
posterity  by  the  eldest  son,  who  appears  to  have  been 
of  disreputable  life  in  his  younger  days.  He  inher- 
ited his  father’s  failings,  with  some  faint  shadow,  I 
have  also  understood,  of  the  great  qualities  which 
have  made  the  world  tender  of  his  father’s  vices  and 
weaknesses. 

We  listened  readily  enough  to  this  paltry  gossip, 
but  found  that  it  robbed  the  poet’s  memory  of  some  of 
the  reverence  that  was  its  due.  Indeed,  this  talk  over 
his  grave  had  very  much  the  same  tendency  and  effect 
as  the  home-scene  of  his  life,  which  we  had  been  visit- 
ing just  previously.  Beholding  his  poor,  mean  dwell- 
ing and  its  surroundings,  and  picturing  his  outward 
life  and  earthly  manifestations  from  these,  one  does 
not  so  much  wonder  that  the  people  of  that  day  should 
have  failed  to  recognize  all  that  was  admirable  and 
immortal  in  a disreputable,  drunken,  shabbily  clothed, 
and  shabbily  housed  man,  consorting  with  associates 
of  damaged  character,  and,  as  his  only  ostensible  occu- 
pation, gauging  the  whiskey,  which  he  too  often  tasted. 
Siding  with  Burns,  as  we  needs  must,  in  his  plea 
against  the  world,  let  us  try  to  do  the  world  a little 
justice  too.  It  is  far  easier  to  know  and  honor  a poet 
when  his  fame  has  taken  shape  in  the  spotlessness  of 
marble  than  when  the  actual  man  comes  staggering 
before  you,  besmeared  with  the  sordid  stains  of  his 
daily  life.  For  my  part,  I chiefly  wonder  that  his  rec- 
ognition dawned  so  brightly  while  he  was  still  living. 
There  must  have  been  something  very  grand  in  his 
immediate  presence,  some  strangely  impressive  charac- 
teristic in  his  natural  behavior,  to  have  caused  him  to 
seem  like  a demigod  so  soon. 

As  we  went  back  through  the  churchyard,  we  saw  a 


236  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS, 


spot  where  nearly  four  hundred  inhabitants  of  Dum« 
fries  were  buried  during  the  cholera  year ; and  also 
some  curious  old  monuments,  with  raised  letters,  the 
inscriptions  on  which  were  not  sufficiently  legible  to 
induce  us  to  puzzle  them  out;  but,  I believe,  they 
mark  the  resting-places  of  old  Covenanters,  some  of 
whom  were  killed  by  Claverhouse  and  his  fellow-rut 
fians. 

St.  Michael’s  Church  is  of  red  freestone,  and  was 
built  about  a hundred  years  ago,  on  an  old  Catholic 
foundation.  Our  guide  admitted  us  into  it,  and 
showed  us,  in  the  porch,  a very  pretty  little  marble 
figure  of  a child  asleep,  with  a drapery  over  the  lower 
part,  from  beneath  which  appeared  its  two  baby  feet. 
It  was  truly  a sweet  little  statue ; and  the  woman  told 
us  that  it  represented  a child  of  the  sculptor,  and  that 
the  baby  (here  still  in  its  marble  infancy)  had  died 
more  than  twenty-six  years  ago.  Many  ladies,”  she 
said,  especially  such  as  had  ever  lost  a child,  had 
shed  tears  over  it.”  It  was  very  pleasant  to  think  of 
the  sculptor  bestowing  the  best  of  his  genius  and  art 
to  re-create  his  tender  child  in  stone,  and  to  make  the 
representation  as  soft  and  sweet  as  the  original ; but 
the  conclusion  of  the  story  has  something  that  jars 
with  our  awakened  sensibilities.  A gentleman  from 
London  had  seen  the  statue,  and  was  so  much  de- 
lighted with  it  that  he  bought  it  of  the  father-artist, 
after  it  had  lain  above  a quarter  of  a century  in  the 
church-porch.  So  this  was  not  the  real,  tender  image 
that  came  out  of  the  father’s  heart ; he  had  sold  that 
truest  one  for  a hundred  guineas,  and  sculptured  this 
mere  copy  to  replace  it.  The  first  figure  was  en- 
tirely naked  in  its  earthly  and  spiritual  innocence. 
The  copy,  as  I have  said  above,  has  a drapery  over 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  237 


the  lower  limbs.  But,  after  all,  if  we  come  to  the 
truth  of  the  matter,  the  sleeping  baby  may  be  as  fitly 
reposited  in  the  drawing-room  of  a connoisseur  as  in  a 
cold  and  dreary  church-porch. 

We  went  into  the  church,  and  found  it  very  plain 
and  naked,  without  altar-decorations,  and  having  its 
floor  quite  covered  with  unsightly  wooden  pews.  The 
woman  led  us  to  a pew  cornering  on  one  of  the  side- 
aisles,  and,  telling  us  that  it  used  to  be  Burns’s  family- 
pew,  showed  us  his  seat,  which  is  in  the  corner  by  the 
aisle.  It  is  so  situated,  that  a sturdy  pillar  hid  him 
from  the  pulpit,  and  from  the  minister’s  eye  ; for 
Robin  was  no  great  friends  with  the  ministers,”  said 
she.  This  touch  — his  seat  behind  the  pillar,  and 
Burns  himself  nodding  in  sermon-time,  or  keenly  ob- 
servant of  profane  things  — brought  him  before  us  to 
the  life.  In  the  corner-seat  of  the  next  pew,  right  be- 
fore Burns,  and  not  more  than  two  feet  off,  sat  the 
young  lady  on  whom  the  poet  saw  that  unmentionable 
parasite  which  he  has  immortalized  in  song.  W e were 
ungenerous  enough  to  ask  the  lady’s  name,  but  the 
good  woman  could  not  tell  it.  This  was  the  last 
thing  which  we  saw  in  Dumfries  worthy  of  record ; 
and  it  ought  to  be  noted  that  our  guide  refused  some 
money  which  my  companion  offered  her,  because  I 
had  already  paid  her  what  she  deemed  sufficient. 

At  the  railway-station  we  spent  more  than  a weary 
hour,  waiting  for  the  train,  which  at  last  came  up,  and 
took  us  to  Mauchline.  We  got  into  an  omnibus,  the 
only  conveyance  to  be  had,  and  drove  about  a mile  to 
the  village,  where  we  established  ourselves  at  the  Lou- 
doun Hotel,  one  of  the  veriest  country  inns  which  we 
have  found  in  Great  Britain.  The  town  of  Mauch- 
line, a place  more  redolent  of  Burns  than  almost  any 


238  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


other,  consists  of  a street  or  two  of  contiguous  cot- 
tages, mostly  white-washed,  and  with  thatched  roofs. 
It  has  nothing  sylvan  or  rural  in  the  immediate  vil- 
lage, and  is  as  ugly  a place  as  mortal  man  could  con- 
trive to  make,  or  to  render  uglier  through  a succes- 
sion of  untidy  generations.  The  fashion  of  paving  the 
village  street,  and  patching  one  shabby  house  on  the 
gable-end  of  another,  quite  shuts  out  all  verdure  and 
pleasantness  ; but,  I presume,  we  are  not  likely  to  see 
a more  genuine  old  Scotch  village,  such  as  they  used 
to  be  in  Burns’s  time,  and  long  before,  than  this  of 
Mauchline.  The  church  stands  about  midway  up  the 
street,  and  is  built  of  red  freestone,  very  simple  in  its 
architecture,  with  a square  tower  and  pinnacles.  In 
this  sacred  edifice,  and  its  churchyard,  was  the  scene 
of  one  of  Burns’s  most  characteristic  productions. 
The  Holy  Fair.” 

Almost  directly  opposite  its  gate,  across  the  village 
street,  stands  Posie  Nansie’s  inn,  where  the  Jolly 
Beggars  ” congregated.  The  latter  is  a two-story,  red- 
stone,  thatched  house,  looking  old,  but  by  no  means 
venerable,  like  a drunken  patriarch.  It  has  small,  old- 
fashioned  windows,  and  may  well  have  stood  for  cen- 
turies, — though,  seventy  or  eighty  years  ago,  when 
Burns  was  conversant  with  it,  I should  fancy  it  might 
have  been  something  better  than  a beggars’  alehouse. 
The  whole  town  of  Mauchline  looks  rusty  and  time- 
worn, — even  the  newer  houses,  of  which  there  are 
several,  being  shadowed  and  darkened  by  the  general 
aspect  of  the  place.  When  we  arrived,  all  the  wretched 
little  dwellings  seemed  to  have  belched  forth  their  in- 
habitants into  the  warm  summer  evening  : everybody 
was  chatting  with  everybody,  on  the  most  familiar 
terms ; the  bare-legged  children  gambolled  or  quar- 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  239 


relied  uproariously,  and  came  freely,  moreover,  and 
looked  into  the  window  of  our  parlor.  When  we  ven- 
tured out,  we  were  followed  by  the  gaze  of  the  old 
town:  people  standing  in  their  doorways,  old  women 
popping  their  heads  from  the  chamber- windows,  and 
stalwart  men  — idle  on  Saturday  at  e’en,  after  their 
week’s  hard  labor  — clustering  at  the  street-corners, 
merely  to  stare  at  our  unpretending  selves.  Except 
in  some  remote  little  town  of  Italy  (where,  besides, 
the  inhabitants  had  the  intelligible  stimulus  of  beg- 
gary), I have  never  been  honored  with  nearly  such  an 
amount  of  public  notice. 

The  next  forenoon  my  companion  put  me  to  shame 
by  attending  church,  after  vainly  exhorting  me  to  do 
the  like  ; and  it  being  Sacrament  Sunday,  and  my 
poor  friend  being  wedged  into  the  farther  end  of  a 
closely  filled  pew,  he  was  forced  to  stay  through  the 
preaching  of  four  several  sermons,  and  came  back  per- 
fectly exhausted  and  desperate.  He  was  somewhat  con- 
soled, however,  on  finding  that  he  had  witnessed  a spec- 
tacle of  Scotch  manners  identical  with  that  of  Burns’s 

Holy  Fair  ” on  the  very  spot  where  the  poet  located 
that  immortal  description.  By  way  of  further  con- 
formance to  the  customs  of  the  country,  we  ordered  a 
sheep’s  head  and  the  broth,  and  did  penance  accord- 
ingly ; and  at  five  o’clock  we  took  a fly,  and  set  out 
for  Burns’s  farm  of  Moss  Giel. 

Moss  Giel  is  not  more  than  a mile  from  Mauchline, 
and  the  road  extends  over  a high  ridge  of  land,  with  a 
view  of  far  hills  and  green  slopes  on  either  side.  Just 
before  we  reaehed  the  farm,  the  driver  stopped  to 
point  out  a hawthorn,  growing  by  the  wayside,  which 
he  said  was  Burns’s  Lousie  Thorn  ” ; and  I devoutly 
plucked  a branch,  although  I have  really  forgotten 


240  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


where  or  how  this  illustrious  shrub  has  been  cele- 
brated. We  then  turned  into  a rude  gateway,  and 
almost  immediately  came  to  the  farm-house  of  Moss 
Giel,  standing  some  fifty  yards  removed  from  the  high- 
road, behind  a tall  hedge  of  hawthorn,  and  consider- 
ably overshadowed  by  trees.  The  house  is  a white- 
washed stone  cottage,  like  thousands  of  others  in  Eng- 
land and  Scotland,  with  a thatched  roof,  on  which 
grass  and  weeds  have  intruded  a picturesque,  though 
alien  growth.  There  is  a door  and  one  window  in 
front,  besides  another  little  window  that  peeps  out 
among  the  thatch.  Close  by  the  cottage,  and  extend- 
ing back  at  right  angles  from  it,  so  as  to  enclose  the 
farm-yard,  are  two  other  buildings  of  the  same  §ize, 
shape,  and  general  appearance  as  the  house : any  one 
of  the  three  looks  just  as  fit  for  a human  habitation  as 
the  two  others,  and  all  three  look  still  more  suitable 
for  donkey-stables  and  pigsties.  As  we  drove  into  the 
farm-yard,  bounded  on  three  sides  by  these  three  hov- 
els, a large  dog  began  to  bark  at  us  ; and  some  women 
and  children  made  their  appearance,  but  seemed  to  de- 
mur about  admitting  us,  because  the  master  and  mis- 
tress were  very  religious  people,  and  had  not  yet  come 
back  from  the  Sacrament  at  Mauchline. 

However,  it  would  not  do  to  be  turned  back  from  the 
very  threshold  of  Robert  Burns;  and  as  the  women 
seemed  to  be  merely  straggling  visitors,  and  nobody? 
at  all  events,  had  a right  to  send  us  away,  we  went 
into  the  back  door,  and,  turning  to  the  right,  entered  a 
kitchen.  It  showed  a deplorable  lack  of  housewifely 
neatness,  and  in  it  there  were  three  or  four  children, 
one  of  whom,  a girl  eight  or  nine  years  old,  held  a 
baby  in  her  arms.  She  proved  to  be  the  daughter  of 
the  people  of  the  house,  and  gave  us  what  leave  she 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  241 


could  to  look  about  us.  Thence  we  stepped  across  the 
narrow  mid-passage  of  the  cottage  into  the  only  other 
apartment  below  stairs,  a sitting-room,  where  we  found 
a young  man  eating  bread  and  cheese.  He  informed 
us  that  he  did  not  live  there,  and  had  only  called  in  to 
refresh  himself  on  his  way  home  from  church.  This 
room,  like  the  kitchen,  was  a noticeably  poor  one,  and, 
besides  being  all  that  the  cottage  had  to  show  for  a 
parlor,  it  was  a sleeping-apartment,  having  two  beds, 
which  might  be  curtained  off,  on  occasion.  The  young 
man  allowed  us  liberty  (so  far  as  in  him  lay)  to  go  up 
stairs.  Up  we  crept,  accordingly  ; and  a few  steps 
brought  us  to  the  top  of  the  staircase,  over  the  kitchen, 
where  we  found  the  wretchedest  little  sleeping-cham- 
ber in  the  world,  with  a sloping  roof  under  the  thatch, 
and  two  beds  spread  upon  the  bare  floor.  This,  most** 
probably,  was  Burns’s  chamber ; or,  perhaps,  it  may 
have  been  that  of  his  mother’s  servant-maid ; and,  in 
either  case,  this  rude  floor,  at  one  time  or  another, 
must  have  creaked  beneath  the  poet’s  midnight  tread. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  passage  was  the  door  of 
another  attic-chamber,  opening  which,  I saw  a consid- 
erable number  of  cheeses  on  the  floor. 

The  whole  house  was  pervaded  with  a frowzy  smell, 
and  also  a dunghill  odor ; and  it  is  not  easy  to  under- 
stand how  the  atmosphere  of  such  a dwelling  can  be 
any  more  agreeable  or  salubrious  morally  than  it  ap- 
peared to  be  physically.  No  virgin,  surely,  could  keep 
a holy  awe  about  her  while  stowed  higgledy-piggledy 
with  coarse-natured  rustics  into  this  narrowness  and 
filth.  Such  a habitation  is  calculated  to  make  beasts 
of  men  and  women ; and  it  indicates  a degree  of  bar- 
barism which  I did  not  imagine  to  exist  in  Scotland, 
that  a tiller  of  broad  fields,  like  the  farmer  of  Mauch- 
16 


VOL.  VII. 


242  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS, 


line,  should  have  his  abode  in  a pigsty.  It  is  sad  to 
think  of  anybody  — not  to  say  a poet,  but  any  human 
being  — sleeping,  eating,  thinking,  praying,  and  spend- 
ing all  his  home-life  in  this  miserable  hovel ; but,  me- 
thinks,  I never  in  the  least  knew  how  to  estimate  the 
miracle  of  Burns’s  genius,  nor  his  heroic  merit  for  be- 
ing no  worse  man,  until  I thus  learned  the  squalid 
hindrances  amid  which  he  developed  himself.  Space, 
a free  atmosphere,  and  cleanliness  have  a vast  deal  to 
do  with  the  possibilities  of  human  virtue. 

The  biographers  talk  of  the  farm  of  Moss  Giel  as 
being  damp  and  unwholesome  ; but  I do  not  see  why, 
outside  of  the  cottage-walls,  it  should  possess  so  evil 
a reputation.  It  occupies  a high,  broad  ridge,  enjoy- 
ing, surely,  whatever  benefit  can  come  of  a breezy  site, 
and  sloping  far  downward  before  any  marshy  soil  is 
reached.  The  high  hedge,  and  the  trees  that  stand 
beside  the  cottage,  give  it  a pleasant  aspect  enough  to 
one  who  does  not  know  the  grimy  secrets  of  the  inte- 
rior ; and  the  summer  afternoon  was  now  so  bright 
that  I shall  remember  the  scene  with  a great  deal  of 
sunshine  over  it. 

Leaving  the  cottage,  we  drove  through  a field,  which 
the  driver  told  us  was  that  in  which  Burns  turned  up 
the  mouse’s  nest.  It  is  the  enclosure  nearest  to  the 
cottage,  and  seems  now  to  be  a pasture,  and  a rather 
remarkably  unfertile  one.  A little  farther  on,  the 
ground  was  whitened  with  an  immense  number  of 
daisies,  — daisies,  daisies  everywhere ; and  in  answer 
to  my  inquiry,  the  driver  said  that  this  was  the  field 
where  Burns  ran  his  ploughshare  over  the  daisy.  If 
so,  the  soil  seems  to  have  been  consecrated  to  daisies 
by  the  song  which  he  bestowed  on  that  first  immortal 
one.  I alighted,  and  plucked  a whole  handful  of  these 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  243 


‘‘  wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flowers,”  which  will  be 
precious  to  many  friends  in  our  own  country  as  com- 
ing from  Burns’s  farm,  and  being  of  the  same  race 
and  lineage  as  that  daisy  which  he  turned  into  an  am- 
aranthine flower  while  seeming  to  destroy  it. 

From  Moss  Giel  we  drove  through  a variety  of 
pleasant  scenes,  some  of  which  were  familiar  to  us  by 
their  connection  with  Burns.  We  skirted,  too,  along 
a portion  of  the  estate  of  Auchinleck,  which  still  be- 
longs to  the  Boswell  family,  — the  present  possessor 
being  Sir  James  Boswell,^  a grandson  of  Johnson’s 
friend,  and  son  of  the  Sir  Alexander  who  was  killed 
in  a duel.  Our  driver  spoke  of  Sir  James  as  a kind, 
free-hearted  man,  but  addicted  to  horse-races  and 
similar  pastimes,  and  a little  too  familiar  with  the 
wine-cup  ; so  that  poor  Bozzy’s  booziness  would  appear 
to  have  become  hereditary  in  his  ancient  line.  There 
is  no  male  heir  to  the  estate  of  Auchinleck.  The  por- 
tion of  the  lands  which  we  saw  is  covered  with  wood 
and  much  undermined  with  rabbit-warrens ; nor,  though 
the  territory  extends  over  a large  number  of  acres,  is 
the  income  very  considerable. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  the  spot  where  Burns  saw 
Miss  Alexander,  the  Lass  of  Ballochmyle.  It  was  on 
a bridge,  which  (or,  more  probably,  a bridge  that  has 
succeeded  to  the  old  one,  and  is  made  of  iron)  crosses 
from  bank  to  bank,  high  in  air  over  a deep  gorge  of 
the  road  ; so  that  the  young  lady  may  have  appeared 
to  Burns  like  a creature  between  earth  and  sky,  and 
compounded  chiefly  of  celestial  elements.  But,  in 
honest  truth,  the  great  charm  of  a woman,  in  Burns’s 
eyes,  was  always  her  womanhood,  and  not  the  angelic 
mixture  which  other  poets  find  in  her. 

1 Sir  James  Boswell  is  now  dead. 


244  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


Our  driver  pointed  out  the  course  taken  by  the  Lass 
of  Ballochmyle,  through  the  shrubbery,  to  a rock  on 
the  banks  of  the  Lugar,  where  it  seems  to  be  the  tra- 
dition that  Burns  accosted  her.  The  song  implies  no 
such  interview.  Lovers,  of  whatever  condition,  high 
or  low,  could  desire  no  lovelier  scene  in  which  to 
breathe  their  vows : the  river  flowing  over  its  pebbly 
bed,  sometimes  gleaming  into  the  sunshine,  sometimes 
hidden  deep  in  verdure,  and  here  and  there  eddying 
at  the  foot  of  high  and  precipitous  cliffs.  This  beau- 
tiful estate  of  Ballochmyle  is  still  held  by  the  family  of 
Alexanders,  to  whom  Burns’s  song  has  given  renown 
on  cheaper  terms  than  any  other  set  of  people  ever 
attained  it.  How  slight  the  tenure  seems  ! A young 
lady  happened  to  walk  out,  one  summer  afternoon, 
and  crossed  the  path  of  a neighboring  farmer,  who 
celebrated  the  little  incident  in  four  or  five  warm, 
rude,  — at  least,  not  refined,  though  rather  ambitious, 
— and  somewhat  ploughman-like  verses.  Burns  has 
written  hundreds  of  better  things ; but  henceforth,  for 
centuries,  that  maiden  has  free  admittance  into  the 
dream-land  of  Beautiful  W omen,  and  she  and  all  her 
race  are  famous.  I should  like  to  know  the  present 
head  of  the  family,  and  ascertain  what  value,  if  any, 
the  members  of  it  put  upon  the  celebrity  thus  won. 

We  passed  through  Catrine,  known  hereabouts  as 
the  clean  village  of  Scotland.”  Certainly,  as  regards 
the  point  indicated,  it  has  greatly  the  advantage  of 
Mauchline,  whither  we  now  returned  without  seeing 
anything  else  worth  writing  about. 

There  was  a rain-storm  during  the  night,  and,  in 
the  morning,  the  rusty,  old,  sloping  street  of  Mauch- 
line was  glistening  with  wet,  while  frequent  showers 
came  spattering  down.  The  intense  heat  of  many 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  245 


days  past  was  exchanged  for  a chilly  atmosphere, 
much  more  suitable  to  a stranger’s  idea  of  what  Scotch 
temperature  ought  to  be.  We  found,  after  breakfast, 
that  the  first  train  northward  had  already  gone  by, 
and  that  we  must  wait  till  nearly  two  o’clock  for  the 
next.  I merely  ventured  out  once,  during  the  fore- 
noon, and  took  a brief  walk  through  the  village,  in 
which  I have  left  little  to  describe.  Its  chief  business 
appears  to  be  the  manufacture  of  snuff-boxes.  There 
are  perhaps  five  or  six  shops,  or  more,  including  those 
licensed  to  sell  only  tea  and  tobacco  ; the  best  of  them 
have  the  characteristics  of  village  stores  in  the  United 
States,  dealing  in  a small  way  with  an  extensive 
variety  of  articles.  I peeped  into  the  open  gateway 
of  the  churchyard,  and  saw  that  the  ground  was  ab- 
solutely stuffed  with  dead  people,,  and  the  surface 
crowded  with  gravestones,  both  perpendicular  and 
horizontal.  All  Burns’s  old  Mauchline  acquaintance 
are  doubtless  there,  and  the  Armours  among  them, 
except  Bonny  Jean,  who  sleeps  by  her  poet’s  side. 
The  family  of  Armour  is  now  extinct  in  Mauchline. 

Arriving  at  the  railway-station,  we  found  a tall,  el- 
derly, comely  gentleman  walking  to  and  fro  and  wait- 
ing for  the  train.  He  proved  to  be  a Mr.  Alexander, 
— it  may  fairly  be  presumed  the  Alexander  of  Bal- 
lochmyle,  a blood  relation  of  the  lovely  lass.  W onder- 
ful  efficacy  of  a poet’s  verse,  that  could  shed  a glory 
from  Long  Ago  on  this  old  gentleman’s  white  hair  ! 
These  Alexanders,  by  the  by,  are  not  an  old  family  on 
the  Ballochmyle  estate ; the  father  of  the  lass  having 
made  a fortune  in  trade,  and  established  himself  as  the 
first  landed  proprietor  of  his  name  in  these  parts.  The 
original  family  was  named  Whitefoord. 

Our  ride  to  Ayr  presented  nothing  very  remarkable ; 


246  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


and,  indeed,  a cloudy  and  rainy  day  takes  the  varnish 
off  the  scenery,  and  causes  a woful  diminution  in  the 
beauty  and  impressiveness  of  everything  we  see.  Much 
of  our  way  lay  along  a flat,  sandy  level,  in  a southerly 
direction.  We  reached  Ayr  in  the  midst  of  hopeless 
rain,  and  drove  to  the  King’s  Arms  Hotel.  In  the 
intervals  of  showers  I took  peeps  at  the  town,  which 
appeared  to  have  many  modern  or  modern-fronted 
edifices  ; although  there  are  likewise  tall,  gray,  gabled, 
and  quaint-looking  houses  in  the  by-streets,  here  and 
there,  betokening  an  ancient  place.  The  town  lies  on 
both  sides  of  the  Ayr,  which  is  here  broad  and  stately, 
and  bordered  with  dwellings  that  look  from  their  win- 
dows directly  down  into  the  passing  tide. 

I crossed  the  river  by  a modern  and  handsome  stone 
bridge,  and  recrossed  it,  at  no  great  distance,  by  a 
venerable  structure  of  four  gray  arches,  which  must 
have  bestridden  the  stream  ever  since  the  early  days 
of  Scottish  history.  These  are  the  ‘^Two  Briggs  of 
Ayr,”  whose  midnight  conversation  was  overheard  by 
Burns,  while  other  auditors  were  aware  only  of  the 
rush  and  rumble  of  the  wintry  stream  among  the 
arches.  The  ancient  bridge  is  steep  and  narrow,  and 
paved  like  a street,  and  defended  by  a parapet  of  red 
freestone,  except  at  the  two  ends,  where  some  mean 
old  shops  allow  scanty  room  for  the  pathway  to  creep 
between.  Nothing  else  impressed  me  hereabouts,  un- 
less I mention  that,  during  the  rain,  the  women  and 
girls  went  about  the  streets  of  Ayr  barefooted  to  save 
their  shoes. 

The  next  morning  wore  a lowering  aspect  as  if  it 
felt  itself  destined  to  be  one  of  many  consecutive  days 
of  storm.  After  a good  Scotch  breakfast,  however,  of 
fresh  herrings  and  eggs,  we  took  a fly,  and  started  at 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  247 

a little  past  ten  for  the  banks  of  the  Doon.  On  our 
way,  at  about  two  miles  from  Ayr,  we  drew  up  at  a 
roadside  cottage,  on  which  was  an  inscription  to  the 
effect  that  Robert  Burns  was  born  within  its  walls. 
It  is  now  a public  house ; and,  of  course,  we  alighted 
and  entered  its  little  sitting-room,  which,  as  we  at 
present  see  it,  is  a neat  apartment  with  the  modern 
improvement  of  a ceiling.  The  walls  are  much  over- 
scribbled with  names  of  visitors,  and  the  wooden  door 
of  a cupboard  in  the  wainscot,  as  well  as  all  the  other 
wood-work  of  the  room,  is  cut  and  carved  with  initial 
letters.  So,  likewise,  are  two  tables,  which,  having 
received  a coat  of  varnish  over  the  inscriptions,  form 
really  curious  and  interesting  articles  of  furniture.  I 
have  seldom  (though  I do  not  personally  adopt  this 
mode  of  illustrating  my  humble  name)  felt  inclined  to 
ridicule  the  natural  impulse  of  most  people  thus  to 
record  themselves  at  the  shrines  of  poets  and  heroes. 

On  a panel,  let  into  the  wall  in  a corner  of  the  room, 
is  a portrait  of  Burns,  copied  from  the  original  picture 
by  Nasmyth.  The  floor  of  this  apartment  is  of  boards, 
which  are  probably  a recent  substitute  for  the  ordi- 
nary flag-stones  of  a peasant’s  cottage.  There  is  but 
one  other  room  pertaining  to  the  genuine  birthplace  of 
Robert  Burns : it  is  the  kitchen,  into  which  we  now 
went.  It  has  a floor  of  flag-stones,  even  ruder  than 
those  of  Shakespeare’s  house,  — though,  perhaps,  not 
so  strangely  cracked  and  broken  as  the  latter,  over 
which  the  hoof  of  Satan  himself  might  seem  to  have 
been  trampling.  A new  window  has  been  opened 
through  the  wall,  towards  the  road ; but  on  the  opposite 
side  is  the  little  original  window,  of  only  four  small 
panes,  through  which  came  the  first  daylight  that  shone 
upon  the  Scottish  poet.  At  the  side  of  the  room,  op 


248  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 

posite  the  fireplace,  is  a recess,  containing  a bed,  which 
can  be  hidden  by  curtains.  In  that  humble  nook,  of 
all  places  in  the  world,  Providence  was  pleased  to  de- 
posit the  germ  of  richest  human  life  which  mankind 
then  had  within  its  circumference. 

These  two  rooms,  as  I have  said,  make  up  the  whole 
sum  and  substance  of  Burns’s  birthplace  : for  there 
were  no  chambers,  nor  even  attics ; and  the  thatched 
roof  formed  the  only  ceiling  of  kitchen  and  sitting- 
room,  the  height  of  which  was  that  of  the  whole  house. 
The  cottage,  however,  is  attached  to  another  edifice  of 
the  same  size  and  description,  as  these  little  habita- 
tions often  are ; and,  moreover,  a splendid  addition 
has  been  made  to  it,  since  the  poet’s  renown  began  to 
draw  visitors  to  the  wayside  alehouse.  The  old  wo- 
man of  the  house  led  us  through  an  entry,  and  showed 
a vaulted  hall,  of  no  vast  dimensions,  to  be  sure,  but 
marvellously  large  and  splendid  as  compared  with 
what  might  be  anticipated  from  the  outward  aspect  of 
the  cottage.  It  contained  a bust  of  Burns,  and  was 
hung  round  with  pictures  and  engravings,  principally 
illustrative  of  his  life  and  poems.  In  this  part  of  the 
house,  too,  there  is  a parlor,  fragrant  with  tobacco- 
smoke  ; and,  no  doubt,  many  a noggin  of  whiskey  is 
here  quaffed  to  the  memory  of  the  bard,  who  professed 
to  draw  so  much  inspiration  from  that  potent  liquor. 

We  bought  some  engravings  of  Kirk  Alloway,  the 
Bridge  of  Doon,  and  the  monument,  and  gave  the  old 
woman  a fee  besides,  and  took  our  leave.  A very  short 
drive  farther  brought  us  within  sight  of  the  monu- 
ment, and  to  the  hotel,  situated  close  by  the  entrance 
of  the  ornamental  grounds  within  which  the  former  is 
enclosed.  We  rang  the  bell  at  the  gate  of  the  enclos- 
ure, but  were  forced  to  wait  a considerable  time ; be- 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS,  249 


cause  the  old  man,  the  regular  superintendent  of  the 
spot,  had  gone  to  assist  at  the  laying  of  the  corner- 
stone of  a new  kirk.  He  appeared  anon,  and  admit- 
ted us,  but  immediately  hurried  away  to  be  present  at 
the  concluding  ceremonies,  leaving  us  locked  up  with 
Burns. 

The  enclosure  around  the  monument  is  beautifully 
laid  out  as  an  ornamental  garden,  and  abundantly  pro- 
vided with  rare  flowers  and  shrubbery,  all  tended  with 
loving  care.  The  monument  stands  on  an  elevated 
site,  and  consists  of  a massive  basement-story,  three- 
sided,  above  which  rises  a light  and  elegant  Grecian 
temple,  — a mere  dome,  supported  on  Corinthian  pil- 
lars, and  open  to  all  the  winds.  The  edifice  is  beauti- 
ful in  itself ; though  I know  not  what  peculiar  appro- 
priateness it  may  have,  as  the  memorial  of  a Scottish 
rural  poet. 

The  door  of  the  basement-story  stood  open ; and, 
entering,  we  saw  a bust  of  Burns  in  a niche,  looking 
keener,  more  refined,  but  not  so  warm  and  whole-souled 
as  his  pictures  usually  do.  I think  the  likeness  can- 
not be  good.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a glass 
case,  in  which  were  reposited  the  two  volumes  of  the 
little  Pocket  Bible  that  Burns  gave  to  Highland  Mary, 
when  they  pledged  their  troth  to  one  another.  It  is 
poorly  printed,  on  coarse  paper.  A verse  of  Scripture, 
referring  to  the  solemnity  and  awfulness  of  vows,  is 
written  within  the  cover  of  each  volume,  in  the  poet’s 
own  hand ; and  fastened  to  one  of  the  covers  is  a 
lock  of  Highland  Mary’s  golden  hair.  This  Bible  had 
been  carried  to  America  by  'one  of  her  relatives,  but 
was  sent  back  to  be  fitly  treasured  here. 

There  is  a staircase  within  the  monument,  by  which 
we  ascended  to  the  top,  and  had  a view  of  both  Briggs 


250  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS. 


of  Doon ; the  scene  of  Tam  O’Shanter’s  misadventure 
being  close  at  hand.  Descending,  we  wandered  through 
the  enclosed  garden,  and  came  to  a little  building  in  a 
corner,  on  entering  which,  we  found  the  two  statues  of 
Tam  and  Sutor  Wat,  — ponderous  stone-work  enough, 
yet  permeated  in  a remarkable  degree  with  living 
warmth  and  jovial  hilarity.  From  this  part  of  the 
garden,  too,  we  again  beheld  the  old  Brigg  of  Doon, 
over  which  Tam  galloped  in  such  imminent  and  awful 
peril.  It  is  a beautiful  object  in  the  landscape,  with 
one  high,  graceful  arch,  ivy  - grown,  and  shadowed  all 
over  and  around  with  foliage. 

When  we  had  waited  a good  while,  the  old  gardener 
came,  telling  us  that  he  had  heard  an  excellent  prayer 
at  laying  the  corner  - stone  of  the  new  kirk.  He  now 
gave  us  some  roses  and  sweetbrier,  and  let  us  out  from 
his  pleasant  garden.  We  immediately  hastened  to 
Kirk  Alloway,  which  is  within  two  or  three  minutes’ 
walk  of  the  monument.  A few  steps  ascend  from  the 
roadside,  through  a gate,  into  the  old  graveyard,  in 
the  midst  of  which  stands  the  kirk.  The  edifice  is 
wholly  roofless,  but  the  side  - walls  and  gable  - ends 
are  quite  entire,  though  portions  of  them  are  evidently 
modern  restorations.  Never  was  there  a plainer  little 
church,  or  one  with  smaller  architectural  pretensions ; 
no  New  England  meeting-house  has  more  simplicity  in 
its  very  self,  though  poetry  and  fun  have  clambered 
and  clustered  so  wildly  over  Kirk  Alloway  that  it  is 
difficult  to  see  it  as  it  actually  exists.  By  the  by,  I do 
not  understand  why  Satan  and  an  assembly  of  witches 
should  hold  their  revels'  within  a consecrated  pre- 
cinct ; but  the  weird  scene  has  so  established  itself  in 
the  world’s  imaginative  faith  that  it  must  be  accepted 
as  an  authentic  incident,  in  spite  of  rule  and  reason 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS,  251 


to  the  contrary.  Possibly,  some  carnal  minister,  some 
priest  of  pious  aspect  and  hidden  infidelity,  had  dis- 
pelled the  consecration  of  the  holy  edifice  by  his  pre- 
tence of  prayer,  and  thus  made  it  the  resort  of  un- 
happy  ghosts  and  sorcerers  and  devils. 

The  interior  of  the  kirk,  even  now,  is  applied  to 
quite  as  impertinent  a purpose  as  when  Satan  and  the 
witches  used  it  as  a dancing-hall ; for  it  is  divided  in 
the  midst  by  a wall  of  stone-masonry,  and  each  com- 
partment has  been  converted  into  a family  burial-place. 
The  name  on  one  of  the  monuments  is  Crawfurd ; the 
other  bore  no  inscription.  It  is  impossible  not  to  feel 
that  these  good  people,  whoever  they  may  be,  had  no 
business  to  thrust  their  prosaic  bones  into  a spot  that 
belongs  to  the  world,  and  where  their  presence  jars 
with  the  emotions,  be  they  sad  or  gay,  which  the 
pilgrim  brings  thither.  They  shut  us  out  from  our 
own  precincts,  too,  — from  that  inalienable  possession 
which  Burns  bestowed  in  free  gift  upon  mankind,  by 
taking  it  from  the  actual  earth  and  annexing  it  to 
the  domain  of  imagination.  And  here  these  wretched 
squatters  have  lain  down  to  their  long  sleep,  after  bar- 
ring each  of  the  two  doorways  of  the  kirk  with  an 
iron  grate  ! May  their  rest  be  troubled,  till  they  rise 
and  let  us  in  ! 

Kirk  Alloway  is  inconceivably  small,  considering 
how  large  a space  it  fills  in  our  imagination  before  we 
see  it.  I paced  its  length,  outside  of  the  wall,  and 
found  it  only  seventeen  of  my  paces,  and  not  more 
than  ten  of  them  in  breadth.  There  seem  to  have 
been  but  very  few  windows,  all  of  which,  if  I rightly 
remember,  are  now  blocked  up  with  mason-work  of 
stone.  One  mullioned  window,  tall  and  narrow,  in 
the  eastern  gable,  might  have  been  seen  by  Tam 


262  SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS, 


O’Shanter,  blazing  with  devilish  light,  as  he  ap- 
proached along  the  road  from  Ayr;  and  there  is  a 
small  and  square  one,  on  the  side  nearest  the  road, 
into  which  he  might  have  peered,  as  he  sat  on  horse- 
back. Indeed,  I could  easily  have  looked  through  it, 
standing  on  the  ground,  had  not  the  opening  been 
walled  up.  There  is  an  odd  kind  of  belfry  at  the 
peak  of  one  of  the  gables,  with  the  small  bell  still 
hanging  in  it.  And  this  is  all  that  I remember  of 
Kirk  Alloway,  except  that  the  stones  of  its  material 
are  gray  and  irregular. 

The  road  from  Ayr  passes  Alloway  Kirk,  and 
crosses  the  Doon  by  a modern  bridge,  without  swerv- 
ing much  from  a straight  line.  To  reach  the  old 
bridge,  it  appears  to  have  made  a bend,  shortly  after 
passing  the  kirk,  and  then  to  have  turned  sharply  to- 
wards the  river.  The  new  bridge  is  within  a minute’s 
walk  of  the  monument  ; and  we  went  thither,  and 
leaned  over  its  parapet  to  admire  the  beautiful  Doon, 
flowing  wildly  and  sweetly  between  its  deep  and 
wooded  banks.  I never  saw  a lovelier  scene  ; although 
this  might  have  been  even  lovelier  if  a kindly  sun  had 
shone  upon  it.  The  ivy-grown,  ancient  bridge,  with  its 
high  arch,  through  which  we  had  a picture  of  the  river 
and  the  green  banks  beyond,  was  absolutely  the  most 
picturesque  object,  in  a quiet  and  gentle  way,  that  ever 
blessed  my  eyes.  Bonny  Doon,  with  its  wooded  banks, 
and  the  boughs  dipping  into  the  water ! The  mem- 
ory of  them,  at  this  moment,  affects  me  like  the  song 
of  birds,  and  Burns  crooning  some  verses,  simple  and 
wild,  in  accordance  with  their  native  melody. 

It  was  impossible  to  depart  without  crossing  the  very 
bridge  of  Tam’s  adventure  ; so  we  went  thither,  over  a 
now  disused  portion  of  the  road,  and,  standing  on  the 


SOME  OF  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BURNS.  253 


centre  of  the  arch,  gathered  some  ivy  leaves  from  that 
sacred  spot.  This  done,  we  returned  as  speedily  as 
might  he  to  Ayr,  whence,  taking  the  rail,  we  soon  be- 
held Ailsa  Craig  rising  like  a pyramid  out  of  the  sea. 
Drawing  nearer  to  Glasgow,  Ben  Lomond  hove  in 
sight,  with  a dome-like  summit,  supported  by  a shoul- 
der on  each  side.  But  a man  is  better  than  a moun- 
tain ; and  we  had  been  holding  intercourse,  if  not  with 
the  reality,  at  least  with  the  stalwart  ghost  of  one  of 
Earth’s  memorable  sons,  amid  the  scenes  where  he 
lived  and  sung.  We  shall  appreciate  him  better  as  a 
poet,  hereafter ; for  there  is  no  writer  whose  life,  as 
a man,  has  so  much  to  do  with  his  fame,  and  throws 
such  a necessary  light  upon  whatever  he  has  produced. 
Henceforth,  there  will  be  a personal  warmth  for  us  in 
everything  that  he  wrote ; and,  like  his  countrymen, 
we  shall  know  him  in  a kind  of  personal  way,  as  if  we 
had  shaken  hands  with  him,  and  felt  the  thrill  of  his 
actual  voice. 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


One  of  our  English  summers  looks,  in  the  retro- 
spect, as  if  it  had  been  patched  with  more  frequent 
sunshine  than  the  sky  of  England  ordinarily  affords  ; 
but  I believe  that  it  may  be  only  a moral  effect, — a 
‘‘  light  that  never  was  on  sea  nor  land,”  — caused  by 
our  having  found  a particularly  delightful  abode  in  the 
neighborhood  of  London.  In  order  to  enjoy  it,  how- 
ever, I was  compelled  to  solve  the  problem  of  living  in 
two  places  at  once,  — an  impossibility  which  I so  far 
accomplished  as  to  vanish,  at  frequent  intervals,  out 
of  men’s  sight  and  knowledge  on  one  side  of  Eng- 
land, and  take  my  place  in  a circle  of  familiar  faces 
on  the  other,  so  quietly  that  I seemed  to  have  been 
there  all  along.  It  was  the  easier  to  get  accustomed 
to  our  new  residence,  because  it  was  not  only  rich  in 
all  the  material  properties  of  a home,  but  had  also  the 
home-like  atmosphere,  the  household  element,  which  is 
of  too  intangible  a character  to  be  let  even  with  the 
most  thoroughly  furnished  lodging-house.  A friend 
had  given  us  his  suburban  residence,  with  all  its  con- 
veniences, elegances,  and  snuggeries,  — its  drawing- 
rooms and  library,  still  warm  and  bright  with  the  rec- 
ollection of  the  genial  presences  that  we  had  known 
there,  — its  closets,  chambers,  kitchen,  and  even  its 
wine-cellar,  if  we  could  have  availed  ourselves  of  so 
dear  and  delicate  a trust,  — its  lawn  and  cosey  garden- 
nooks,  and  whatever  else  makes  up  the  multitudinous 
idea  of  an  English  home,  — he  had  transferred  it  all 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


265 


to  us,  pilgrims  and  dusty  wayfarers,  that  we  might 
rest  and  take  our  ease  during  his  summer’s  absence  on 
the  Continent.  W e had  long  been  dwelling  in  tents, 
as  it  were,  and  morally  shivering  by  hearths  which, 
heap  the  bituminous  coal  upon  them  as  we  might,  no 
blaze  could  render  cheerful.  I remember,  to  this  day, 
the  dreary  feeling  with  which  I sat  by  our  first  English 
fireside,  and  watched  the  chill  and  rainy  twilight  of  an 
autumn  day  darkening  down  upon  the  garden ; while 
the  portrait  of  the  preceding  occupant  of  the  house 
(evidently  a most  unamiable  personage  in  his  lifetime) 
scowled  inhospitably  from  above  the  mantel-piece,  as 
if  indignant  that  an  American  should  try  to  make  him- 
self at  home  there.  Possibly  it  may  appease  his  sulky 
shade  to  know  that  I quitted  his  abode  as  much  a 
stranger  as  I entered  it.  But  now,  at  last,  we  were 
in  a genuine  British  home,  where  refined  and  warm- 
hearted people  had  just  been  living  their  daily  life, 
and  had  left  us  a summer’s  inheritance  of  slowly  ri- 
pened days,  such  as  a stranger’s  hasty  opportunities  so 
seldom  permit  him  to  enjoy. 

Within  so  trifling  a distance  of  the  central  spot  of 
all  the  world  (which,  as  Americans  have  at  present  no 
centre  of  their  own,  we  may  allow  to  be  somewhere 
in  the  vicinity,  we  will  say,  of  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral), 
it  might  have  seemed  natural  that  I should  be  tossed 
about  by  the  turbulence  of  the  vast  London  whirlpool. 
But  I had  drifted  into  a still  eddy,  where  conflicting 
movements  made  a repose,  and,  wearied  with  a good 
deal  of  uncongenial  activity,  I found  the  quiet  of  my 
temporary  haven  more  attractive  than  anything  that 
the  great  town  could  offer.  I already  knew  London 
well ; that  is  to  say,  I had  long  ago  satisfied  (so  far  as 
it  was  capable  of  satisfaction)  that  mysterious  yearn- 


256 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


ing  — the  magnetism  of  millions  of  hearts  operating 
upon  one  — which  impels  every  man’s  individuality  to 
mingle  itself  with  the  immensest  mass  of  human  life 
within  his  scope.  Day  after  day,  at  an  earlier  period, 
I had  trodden  the  thronged  thoroughfares,  the  broad, 
lonely  squares,  the  lanes,  alleys,  and  strange  labyrin- 
thine courts,  the  parks,  the  gardens  and  enclosures  of 
ancient  studious  societies,  so  retired  and  silent  amid 
the  city  uproar,  the  markets,  the  foggy  streets  along 
the  river-side,  the  bridges,  — I had  sought  all  parts  of 
the  metropolis,  in  short,  with  an  unweariable  and  in- 
discriminating  curiosity  ; until  few  of  the  native  in- 
habitants, I fancy,  had  turned  so  many  of  its  corners 
as  myself.  These  aimless  wanderings  (in  which  my 
prime  purpose  and  achievement  were  to  lose  my  way, 
and  so  to  find  it  the  more  surely)  had  brought  me,  at 
one  time  or  another,  to  the  sight  and  actual  presence 
of  almost  all  the  objects  and  renowned  localities  that 
I had  read  about,  and  which  had  made  London  the 
dream-city  of  my  youth.  I had  found  it  better  than 
my  dream ; for  there  is  nothing  else  in  life  compar- 
able (in  that  species  of  enjoyment,  I mean)  to  the 
thick,  heavy,  oppressive,  sombre  delight  which  an 
American  is  sensible  of,  hardly  knowing  whether  to 
call  it  a pleasure  or  a pain,  in  the  atmosphere  of  Lon- 
don. The  result  was,  that  I acquired  a home-feeling 
there,  as  nowhere  else  in  the  world,  — though  after- 
wards I came  to  have  a somewhat  similar  sentiment 
in  regard  to  Rome  ; and  as  long  as  either  of  those  two 
great  cities  shall  exist,  the  cities  of  the  Past  and  of 
the  Present,  a man’s  native  soil  may  crumble  beneath 
his  feet  without  leaving  him  altogether  homeless  upon 
earth. 

Thus,  having  once  fully  yielded  to  its  influence,  I 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


257 


was  in  a manner  free  of  the  city,  and  could  approach 
or  keep  away  from  it  as  I pleased.  Hence  it  hap- 
pened, that,  living  within  a quarter  of  an  hour’s 
rush  of  the  London  Bridge  Terminus,  I was  oftener 
tempted  to  spend  a whole  summer-day  in  our  garden 
than  to  seek  anything  new  or  old,  wonderful  or  com- 
monplace, beyond  its  precincts.  It  was  a delightful 
garden,  of  no  great  extent,  but  comprising  a good 
many  facilities  for  repose  and  enjoyment,  such  as  ar- 
bors and  garden  - seats,  shrubbery,  flower-beds,  rose- 
bushes in  a profusion  of  bloom,  pinks,  poppies,  gerani- 
ums, sweet-peas,  and  a variety  of  other  scarlet,  yellow, 
blue,  and  purple  blossoms,  which  I did  not  trouble 
myself  to  recognize  individually,  yet  had  always  a 
vague  sense  of  their  beauty  about  me.  The  dim  sky 
of  England  has  a most  happy  effect  on  the  coloring  of 
flowers,  blending  richness  with  delicacy  in  the  same 
texture ; but  in  this  garden,  as  everywhere  else,  the 
exuberance  of  English  verdure  had  a greater  charm 
than  any  tropical  splendor  or  diversity  of  hue.  The 
hunger  for  natural  beauty  might  be  satisfied  with 
grass  and  green  leaves  forever.  Conscious  of  the 
triumph  of  England  in  this  respect,  and  loyally  anx- 
ious for  the  credit  of  my  own  country,  it  gratified  me 
to  observe  what  trouble  and  pains  the  English  gar- 
deners are  fain  to  throw  away  in  producing  a few  sour 
plums  and  abortive  pears  and  apples,  — as,  for  ex- 
ample, in  this  very  garden,  where  a row  of  unhappy 
trees  were  spread  out  perfectly  flat  against  a brick 
wall,  looking  as  if  impaled  alive,  or  crucified,  with  a 
cruel  and  unattainable  purpose  of  compelling  them  to 
produce  rich  fruit  by  torture.  For  my  part,  I never 
ate  an  English  fruit,  raised  in  the  open  air,  that  could 
compare  in  flavor  with  a Yankee  turnip. 

VOL.  VII.  17 


258 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


The  garden  included  that  prime  feature  of  English 
domestic  scenery,  a lawn.  It  had  been  levelled,  care- 
fully shorn,  and  converted  into  a bowling-green,  on 
which  we  sometimes  essayed  to  practise  the  time-hon- 
ored game  of  bowls,  most  unskilfully,  yet  not  without 
a perception  that  it  involves  a very  pleasant  mixture 
of  exercise  and  ease,  as  is  the  case  with  most  of  the 
old  English  pastimes.  Our  little  domain  was  shut  in 
by  the  house  on  one  side,  and  in  other  directions  by  a 
hedge-fence  and  a brick  wall,  which  last  was  concealed 
or  softened  by  shrubbery  and  the  impaled  fruit-trees 
already  mentioned.  Over  all  the  outer  region,  beyond 
our  immediate  precincts,  there  was  an  abundance  of 
foliage,  tossed  aloft  from  the  near  or  distant  trees 
with  which  that  agreeable  suburb  is  adorned.  The  ef- 
fect was  wonderfully  sylvan  and  rural,  insomuch  that 
we  might  have  fancied  ourselves  in  the  depths  of  a 
wooded  seclusion  ; only  that,  at  brief  intervals,  we 
could  hear  the  galloping  sweep  of  a railway-train  pass- 
ing within  a quarter  of  a mile,  and  its  discordant 
screech,  moderated  by  a little  farther  distance,  as  it 
reached  the  Blackheath  Station.  That  harsh,  rough 
sound,  seeking  me  out  so  inevitably,  was  the  voice  of 
the  great  world  summoning  me  forth.  I know  not 
whether  I was  the  more  pained  or  pleased  to  be  thus 
constantly  put  in  mind  of  the  neighborhood  of  Lon- 
don ; for,  on  the  one  hand,  my  conscience  stung  me  a 
little  for  reading  a book,  or  playing  with  children  in 
the  grass,  when  there  were  so  many  better  things  for 
an  enlightened  traveller  to  do,  — while,  at  the  same 
time,  it  gave  a deeper  delight  to  my  luxurious  idle- 
ness, to  contrast  it  with  the  turmoil  which  I escaped. 
On  the  whole,  however,  I do  not  repent  of  a single 
wasted  hour,  and  only  wish  that  I could  have  spent 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


259 


twice  as  many  in  the  same  way;  for  the  impression  on 
my  memory  is,  that  1 was  as  happy  in  that  hospitable 
garden  as  the  English  summer-day  was  long. 

One  chief  condition  of  my  enjoyment  was  the 
weather.  Italy  has  nothing  like  it,  nor  Americac 
There  never  was  such  weather  except  in  England^ 
where,  in  requital  of  a vast  amount  of  horrible  east- 
wind  between  February  and  June,  and  a brown  Oc- 
tober and  black  November,  and  a wet,  chill,  sunless 
winter,  there  are  a few  weeks  of  incomparable  sum- 
mer, scattered  through  July  and  August,  and  the  ear- 
lier portion  of  September,  small  in  quantity,  but  ex- 
quisite enough  to  atone  for  the  whole  year’s  atmos- 
pherical delinquencies.  After  all,  the  prevalent  som- 
breness may  have  brought  out  those  sunny  intervals 
in  such  high  relief,  that  I see  them,  in  my  recollection, 
brighter  than  they  really  were  : a little  light  makes  a 
glory  for  people  who  live  habitually  in  a gray  gloom. 
The  English,  however,  do  not  seem  to  know  how  en- 
joyable the  momentary  gleams  of  their  summer  are ; 
they  call  it  broiling  weather,  and  hurry  to  the  seaside 
with  red,  perspiring  faces,  in  a state  of  combustion 
and  deliquescence ; and  I have  observed  that  even 
their  cattle  have  similar  susceptibilities,  seeking  the 
deepest  shade,  or  standing  midleg  deep  in  pools  and 
streams  to  cool  themselves,  at  temperatures  which  our 
own  cows  would  deem  little  more  than  barely  comfort- 
able. To  myself,  after  the  summer  heats  of  my  na- 
tive land  had  somewhat  effervesced  out  of  my  blood 
and  memory,  it  was  the  weather  of  Paradise  itself. 
It  might  be  a little  too  warm ; but  it  was  that  mod- 
est and  inestimable  superabundance  which  constitutes 
a bounty  of  Providence,  instead  of  just  a niggardly 
enough.  During  my  first  year  in  England,  residing 


260 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


in  perhaps  the  most  ungenial  part  of  the  kingdom,  I 
could  never  be  quite  comfortable  without  a fire  on  the 
hearth  ; in  the  second  twelvemonth,  beginning  to  get 
acclimatized,  I became  sensible  of  an  austere  friendli- 
ness, shy,  but  sometimes  almost  tender,  in  the  veiled, 
shadowy,  seldom  smiling  summer ; and  in  the  succeed- 
ing years,  — whether  that  I had  renewed  my  fibre 
with  English  beef  and  replenished  my  blood  with 
English  ale,  or  whatever  were  the  cause,  — I grew 
content  with  winter  and  .especially  in  love  with  sum- 
mer, desiring  little  more  for  happiness  than  merely  to 
breathe  and  bask.  At  the  midsummer  which  we  are 
now  speaking  of,  I must  needs  confess  that  the  noon- 
tide sun  came  down  more  fervently  than  I found  al- 
together tolerable ; so  that  I was  fain  to  shift  my 
position  with  the  shadow  of  the  shrubbery,  making 
myself  the  movable  index  of  a sundial  that  reckoned 
up  the  hours  of  an  almost  interminable  day. 

For  each  day  seemed  endless,  though  never  weari- 
some. As  far  as  your  actual  experience  is  concerned, 
the  English  summer-day  has  positively  no  beginning 
and  no  end.  When  you  awake,  at  any  reasonable 
hour,  the  sun  is  already  shining  through  the  curtains  ; 
you  live  through  unnumbered  hours  of  Sabbath  quie- 
tude, with  a calm  variety  of  incident  softly  etched 
upon  their  tranquil  lapse  ; and  at  length  you  become 
conscious  that  it  is  bedtime  again,  while  there  is  still 
enough  daylight  in  the  sky  to  make  the  pages  of  your 
book  distinctly  legible.  Night,  if  there  be  any  such 
season,  hangs  down  a transparent  veil  through  which 
the  by-gone  day  beholds  its  successor ; or,  if  not  quite 
true  of  the  latitude  of  London,  it  may  be  soberly  af- 
firmed of  the  more  northern  parts  of  the  island,  that 
To-morrow  is  born  before  its  Yesterday  is  dead.  They 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


261 


exist  together  in  the  golden  twilight,  where  the  de- 
crepit old  day  dimly  discerns  the  face  of  the  ominous 
infant;  and  you,  though  a mere  mortal,  may  simul- 
taneously touch  them  both  with  one  finger  of  recollec- 
tion and  another  of  prophecy.  I cared  not  how  long 
the  day  might  be,  nor  how  many  of  them,  I had 
earned  this  repose  by  a long  course  of  irksome  toil  and 
perturbation,  and  could  have  been  content  never  to 
stray  out  of  the  limits  of  that  suburban  villa  and  its 
garden.  If  I lacked  anything  beyond,  it  would  have 
satisfied  me  well  enough  to  dream  about  it,  instead  of 
struggling  for  its  actual  possession.  At  least,  this  was 
the  feeling  of  the  moment ; although  the  transitory, 
flitting,  and  irresponsible  character  of  my  life  there 
was  perhaps  the  most  enjoyable  element  of  all,  as  al- 
lowing me  much  of  the  comfort  of  house  and  home, 
without  any  sense  of  their  weight  upon  my  back.  The 
nomadic  life  has  great  advantages,  if  we  can  find  tents 
ready  pitched  for  us  at  every  stage. 

So  much  for  the  interior  of  our  abode,  — a spot  of 
deepest  quiet,  within  reach  of  the  intensest  activity. 
But,  even  when  we  stepped  beyond  our  own  gate,  we 
were  not  shocked  with  any  immediate  presence  of  the 
great  world.  We  were  dwelling  in  one  of  those  oases 
that  have  grown  up  (in  comparatively  recent  years,  I 
believe)  on  the  wide  waste  of  Blackheath,  which  other- 
wise offers  a vast  extent  of  unoccupied  ground  in  sin- 
gular proximity  to  the  metropolis.  As  a general  thing, 
the  proprietorship  of  the  soil  seems  to  exist  in  every- 
body and  nobody  ; but  exclusive  rights  have  been  ob- 
tained, here  and  there,  chiefly  by  men  whose  daily  con- 
cerns link  them  with  London,  so  that  you  find  their 
villas  or  boxes  standing  along  village  streets  which 
have  often  more  of  an  American  aspect  than  the  elder 


262 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


English  settlements.  The  scene  is  semi-rural.  Orna- 
mental trees  overshadow  the  sidewalks,  and  grassy  mar- 
gins border  the  wheel-tracks.  The  houses,  to  be  sure, 
have  certain  points  of  difference  from  those  of  an 
American  village,  bearing  tokens  of  architectural  de- 
sign, though  seldom  of  individual  taste  ; and,  as  far  as 
possible,  they  stand  aloof  from  the  street,  and  sepa- 
rated each  from  its  neighbor  by  hedge  or  fence,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  careful  exclusiveness  of  the  English 
character,  which  impels  the  occupant,  moreover,  to 
cover  the  front  of  his  dwelling  with  as  much  conceal- 
ment of  shrubbery  as  his  limits  will  allow.  Through 
the  interstices,  you  catch  glimpses  of  well-kept  lawns, 
generally  ornamented  with  flowers,  and  with  what  the 
English  call  rock -work,  being  heaps  of  ivy -grown 
stones  and  fossils,  designed  for  romantic  effect  in  a 
small  way.  Two  or  three  of  such  village  streets  as  are 
here  described  take  a collective  name,  — as,  for  in- 
stance, Blackheath  Park,  — and  constitute  a kind  of 
community  of  residents,  with  gateways,  kept  by  a 
policeman,  and  a semi-privacy,  stepping  beyond  which, 
you  find  yourself  on  the  breezy  heath. 

On  this  great,  bare,  dreary  common  I often  went 
astray,  as  I afterwards  did  on  the  Campagna  of  Rome, 
and  drew  the  air  (tainted  with  London  smoke  though 
it  might  be)  into  my  lungs  by  deep  inspirations,  with 
a strange  and  unexpected  se^ise  of  desert  freedom. 
The  misty  atmosphere  helps  you  to  fancy  a remoteness 
that  perhaps  does  not  quite  exist.  During  the  little 
time  that  it  lasts,  the  solitude  is  as  impressive  as  that 
of  a Western  prairie  or  forest ; but  soon  the  railway 
shriek,  a mile  or  two  away,  insists  upon  informing  you 
of  your  whereabout ; or  you  recognize  in  the  distance 
some  landmark  that  you  may  have  known,  — an  in- 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


263 


sulated  villa,  perhaps,  with  its  garden-wall  around  it, 
or  the  rudimental  street  of  a new  settlement  which  is 
sprouting  on  this  otherwise  barren  soil.  Half  a cen- 
tury ago,  the  most  frequent  token  of  man’s  beneficent 
contiguity  might  have  been  a gibbet,  and  the  creak, 
like  a tavern  sign,  of  a murderer  swinging  to  and  fro 
in  irons.  Blackheath,  with  its  highwaymen  and  foot- 
pads, was  dangerous  in  those  days  ; and  even  now,  for 
aught  I know,  the  Western  prairie  may  still  compare 
favorably  with  it  as  a safe  region  to  go  astray  in. 
When  I was  acquainted  with  Blackheath,  the  ingen- 
ious device  of  garroting  had  recently  come  into  fash- 
ion ; and  I can  remember,  while  crossing  those  waste 
places  at  midnight,  and  hearing  footsteps  behind  me, 
to  have  been  sensibly  encouraged  by  also  hearing,  not 
far  off,  the  clinking  hoof-tramp  of  one  of  the  horse- 
patrols  who  do  regular  duty  there.  About  sunset,  or 
a little  later,  was  the  time  when  the  broad  and  some- 
what desolate  peculiarity  of  the  heath  seemed  to  me 
to  put  on  its  utmost  impressiveness.  At  that  hour^ 
finding  myself  on  elevated  ground,  I once  had  a view 
of  immense  London,  four  or  five  miles  off,  with  the 
vast  Dome  in  the  midst,  and  the  towers  of  the  two 
Houses  of  Parliament  rising  up  into  the  smoky  can- 
opy, the  thinner  substance  of  which  obscured  a mass 
of  things,  and  hovered  about  the  objects  that  were 
most  distinctly  visible,  — a glorious  and  sombre  pic- 
ture, dusky,  awful,  but  irresistibly  attractive,  like  a 
young  man’s  dream  of  the  great  world,  foretelling  at 
that  distance  a grandeur  never  to  be  fully  realized. 
While  I lived  in  that  neighborhood,  the  tents  of 
two  or  three  sets  of  cricket-players  were  constantly 
pitched  on  Blackheath,  and  matches  were  going  for- 
ward that  seemed  to  involve  the  honor  and  credit  of 


264 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


communities  or  counties,  exciting  an  interest  in  every- 
body but  myself,  who  cared  not  what  part  of  England 
might  glorify  itself  at  the  expense  of  another.  It  is 
necessary  to  be  born  an  Englishman,  I believe,  in 
order  to  enjoy  this  great  national  game  ; at  any  rate, 
as  a spectacle  for  an  outside  observer,  I found  it  lazy, 
lingering,  tedious,  and  utterly  devoid  of  pictorial  ef- 
fects. Choice  of  other  amusements  was  at  hand.  Butts 
for  archery  were  established,  and  bows  and  arrows 
were  to  be  let,  at  so  many  shots  for  a penny,  — there 
being  abundance  of  space  for  a farther  flight-shot  than 
any  modern  archer  can  lend  to  his  shaft.  Then  there 
was  an  absurd  game  of  throwing  a stick  at  crockery- 
ware,  which  I have  witnessed  a hundred  times,  and 
personally  engaged  in  once  or  twice,  without  ever  hav- 
ing the  satisfaction  to  see  a bit  of  broken  crockery. 
In  other  spots  you  found  donkeys  for  children  to  ride, 
and  ponies  of  a very  meek  and  patient  spirit,  on  which 
the  Cockney  pleasure-seekers  of  both  sexes  rode  races 
and  made  wonderful  displays  of  horsemanship.  By 
way  of  refreshment  there  was  gingerbread  (but,  as  a 
true  patriot,  I must  pronounce  it  greatly  inferior  to 
our  native  dainty),  and  ginger -beer,  and  probably 
stancher  liquor  among  the  booth  - keeper’s  hidden 
stores.  The  frequent  railway  - trains,  as  well  as  the 
numerous  steamers  to  Greenwich,  have  made  the  va- 
cant portions  of  Blackheath  a play-ground  and  breath- 
ing-place for  the  Londoners,  readily  and  very  cheaply 
accessible ; so  that,  in  view  of  this  broader  use  and 
enjoyment,  I a little  grudged  the  tracts  that  have  been 
filched  away,  so  to  speak,  and  individualized  by  thriv- 
ing citizens.  One  sort  of  visitors  especially  interested 
me  : they  were  schools  of  little  boys  or  girls,  under  the 
guardianship  of  their  instructors,  — charity  schools,  as 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


265 


I often  surmised  from  their  aspect,  collected  among 
dark  alleys  and  squalid  courts ; and  hither  they  were 
brought  to  spend  a summer  afternoon,  these  pale  little 
progeny  of  the  sunless  nooks  of  London,  who  had 
never  known  that  the  sky  was  any  broader  than  that 
narrow  and  vapory  strip  above  their  native  lane.  I 
fancied  that  they  took  but  a doubtful  pleasure,  being 
half  affrighted  at  the  wide,  empty  space  overhead  and 
round  about  them,  finding  the  air  too  little  medicated 
with  smoke,  soot,  and  graveyard  exhalations,  to  be 
breathed  with  comfort,  and  feeling  shelterless  and  lost 
because  grimy  London,  their  slatternly  and  disreput- 
able mother,  had  suffered  them  to  stray  out  of  her 
arms. 

Passing  among  these  holiday  people,  we  come  to  one 
of  the  gateways  of  Greenwich  Park,  opening  through 
an  old  brick  wall.  It  admits  us  from  the  bare  heath 
into  a scene  of  antique  cultivation  and  woodland  orna- 
ment, traversed  in  all  directions  by  avenues  of  trees, 
many  of  which  bear  tokens  of  a venerable  age.  These 
broad  and  well-kept  pathways  rise  and  decline  over  the 
elevations,  and  along  the  bases  of  gentle  hills,  which 
diversify  the  whole  surface  of  the  Park.  The  loftiest 
and  most  abrupt  of  them  (though  but  of  very  mod- 
erate height)  is  one  of  the  earth’s  noted  summits,  and 
may  hold  up  its  head  with  Mont  Blanc  and  Chim- 
borazo, as  being  the  site  of  Greenwich  Observatory, 
where,  if  all  nations  will  consent  to  say  so,  the  longi- 
tude of  our  great  globe  begins.  I used  to  regulate  my 
watch  by  the  broad  dial-plate  against  the  Observatory 
wall,  and  felt  it  pleasant  to  be  standing  at  the  very 
centre  of  Time  and  Space. 

There  are  lovelier  parks  than  this  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  London,  richer  scenes  of  greensward  and  cul- 


266 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


tivated  trees  ; and  Kensington,  especially,  in  a sum« 
mer  afternoon,  has  seemed  to  me  as  delightful  as  any 
place  can  or  ought  to  be,  in  a world  which,  some  time 
or  other,  we  must  quit.  But  Greenwich,  too,  is  beau- 
tiful,— a spot  where  the  art  of  man  has  conspired 
with  Nature,  as  if  he  and  the  great  mother  had  taken 
counsel  together  how  to  make  a pleasant  scene,  and 
the  longest  liver  of  the  two  had  faithfully  carried  out 
their  mutual  design.  It  has,  likewise,  an  additional 
charm  of  its  own,  because,  to  all  appearance,  it  is  the 
people’s  property  and  play-ground  in  a much  more 
genuine  way  than  the  aristocratic  resorts  in  closer  vi- 
cinity to  the  metropolis.  It  affords  one  of  the  in- 
stances in  which  the  monarch’s  property  is  actually 
the  people’s,  and  shows  how  much  more  natural  is 
their  relation  to  the  sovereign  than  to  the  nobility, 
which  pretends  to  hold  the  intervening  space  between 
the  two:  for  a nobleman  makes  a paradise  only  for 
himself,  and  fills  it  with  his  own  pomp  and  pride ; 
whereas  the  people  are  sooner  or  later  the  legitimate 
inheritors  of  whatever  beauty  kings  and  queens  create, 
as  now  of  Greenwich  Park.  On  Sundays,  when  tlie 
sun  shone,  and  even  on  those  grim  and  sombre  days 
when,  if  it  do  not  actually  rain,  the  English  persist  in 
calling  it  fine  weather,  it  was  too  good  to  see  how  stur- 
dily the  plebeians  trod  under  their  own  oaks,  and  what 
fulness  of  simple  enjoyment  they  evidently  found  there. 
They  were  the  people,  — not  the  populace,  — speci- 
mens of  a class  whose  Sunday  clothes  are  a distinct 
kind  of  garb  from  their  week-day  ones  ; and  this,  in 
England,  implies  wholesome  habits  of  life,  daily  thrift, 
and  a rank  above  the  lowest.  I longed  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  them,  in  order  to  investigate  what  man- 
ner of  folks  they  were,  what  sort  of  households  they 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


267 


kept,  their  politics,  their  religion,  their  tastes,  and 
whether  they  were  as  narrow-minded  as  their  betters. 
There  can  be  very  little  doubt  of  it : an  Englishman 
is  English,  in  whatever  rank  of  life,  though  no  more 
intensely  so,  I should  imagine,  as  an  artisan  or  petty 
shopkeeper,  than  as  a member  of  Parliament. 

The  English  character,  as  I conceive  it,  is  by  no 
means  a very  lofty  one;  they  seem  to  have  a great 
deal  of  earth  and  grimy  dust  clinging  about  them,  as 
was  probably  the  case  with  the  stalwart  and  quarrel- 
some people  who  sprouted  up  out  of  the  soil,  after 
Cadmus  had  sown  the  dragon’s  teeth.  And  yet,  though 
the  individual  Englishman  is  sometimes  preternatu- 
rally  disagreeable,  an  observer  standing  aloof  has  a 
sense  of  natural  kindness  towards  them  in  the  lump. 
They  adhere  closer  to  the  original  simplicity  in  which 
mankind  was  created  than  we  ourselves  do ; they  love, 
quarrel,  laugh,  cry,  and  turn  their  actual  selves  inside 
out  with  greater  freedom  than  any  class  of  Americans 
would  consider  decorous.  It  was  often  so  with  these 
holiday  folks  in  Greenwich  Park ; and,  ridiculous  as 
it  may  sound,  I fancy  myself  to  have  caught  very  sat- 
isfactory glimpses  of  Arcadian  life  among  the  Cock- 
neys there,  hardly  beyond  the  scope  of  Bow -Bells, 
picnicking  in  the  grass,  uncouthly  gambolling  on  the 
broad  slopes,  or  straying  in  motley  groups  or  by  sin- 
gle pairs  of  love-making  youths  and  maidens,  along 
the  sun-streaked  avenues.  Even  the  omnipresent  po- 
licemen or  park-keepers  could  not  disturb  the  beatific 
impression  on  my  mind.  One  feature,  at  all  events, 
of  the  Golden  Age  was  to  be  seen  in  the  herds  of  deer 
that  encountered  you  in  the  somewhat  remoter  recesses 
of  the  Park,  and  were  readily  prevailed  upon  to  nib- 
ble a bit  of  bread  out  of  your  hand.  But,  though  no 


268 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


wrong  had  ever  been  done  them,  and  no  horn  had 
sounded  nor  hound  bayed  at  the  heels  of  themselves 
or  their  antlered  progenitors  for  centuries  past,  there 
was  still  an  apprehensiveness  lingering  in  their  hearts ; 
so  that  a slight  movement  of  the  hand  or  a step  too 
near  would  send  a whole  squadron  of  them  scamper- 
ing away,  just  as  a breath  scatters  the  winged  seeds  of 
a dandelion. 

The  aspect  of  Greenwich  Park,  with  all  those  fes- 
tal people  wandering  through  it,  resembled  that  of  the 
Borghese  Gardens  under  the  walls  of  Rome,  on  a Sun- 
day or  Saint’s  day ; but,  I am  not  ashamed  to  say,  it 
a little  disturbed  whatever  grimly  ghost  of  Puritanic 
strictness  might  be  lingering  in  the  sombre  depths  of 
a New  England  heart,  among  severe  and  sunless  re- 
membrances of  the  Sabbaths  of  childhood,  and  pangs 
of  remorse  for  ill-gotten  lessons  in  the  catechism,  and 
for  erratic  fantasies  or  hardly  suppressed  laughter  in 
the  middle  of  long  sermons.  Occasionally,  I tried  to 
take  the  long-hoarded  sting  out  of  these  compunctious 
smarts  by  attending  divine  service  in  the  open  air. 
On  a cart  outside  of  the  Park-wall  (and,  if  I mistake 
not,  at  two  or  three  corners  and  secluded  spots  within 
the  Park  itself)  a Methodist  preacher  uplifts  his  voice 
and  speedily  gathers  a congregation,  his  zeal  for  whose 
religious  welfare  impels  the  good  man  to  such  earnest 
vociferation  and  toilsome  gesture  that  his  perspiring 
face  is  quickly  in  a stew.  His  inward  flame  conspires 
with  the  too  fervid  sun,  and  makes  a positive  martyr 
of  him,  even  in  the  very  exercise  of  his  pious  labor ; 
insomuch  that  he  purchases  every  atom  of  spiritual 
increment  to  his  hearers  by  loss  of  his  own  corporeal 
solidity,  and,  should  his  discourse  last  long  enough, 
must  finally  exhale  before  their  eyes.  If  I smile  at 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


269 


him,  be  it  understood,  it  is  not  in  scorn ; he  performs 
his  sacred  office  more  acceptably  than  many  a prelate. 
These  wayside  services  attract  numbers  who  would  not 
otherwise  listen  to  prayer,  sermon,  or  hymn,  from  one 
year’s  end  to  another,  and  who,  for  that  very  reason, 
are  the  auditors  most  likely  to  be  moved  by  the 
preacher’s  eloquence.  Yonder  Greenwich  pensioner, 
too,  — in  his  costume  of  three-cornered  hat,  and  old- 
fashioned,  brass-buttoned  blue  coat  with  ample  skirts, 
which  makes  him  look  like  a contemporary  of  Admi- 
ral Benbow,  — that  tough  old  mariner  may  hear  a 
word  or  two  which  will  go  nearer  his  heart  than  any- 
thing that  the  chaplain  of  the  Hospital  can  be  ex- 
pected to  deliver.  I always  noticed,  moreover,  that  a 
considerable  proportion  of  the  audience  were  soldiers, 
who  came  hither  with  a day’s  leave  from  Woolwich, — 
hardy  veterans  in  aspect,  some  of  whom  wore  as  many 
as  four  or  five  medals,  Crimean  or  East  Indian,  on 
the  breasts  of  their  scarlet  coats.  The  miscellaneous 
congregation  listen  with  every  appearance  of  heartfelt 
interest;  and,  for  my  own  part,  I must  frankly  ac- 
knowledge that  I never  found  it  possible  to  give  five 
minutes’  attention  to  any  other  English  preaching: 
so  cold  and  commonplace  are  the  homilies  that  pass 
for  such,  under  the  aged  roofs  of  churches.  And  as 
for  cathedrals,  the  sermon  is  an  exceedingly  diminu- 
tive and  unimportant  part  of  the  religious  services, 
— - if,  indeed,  it  be  considered  a part,  among  the 
pompous  ceremonies,  the  intonations,  and  the  resound- 
ing and  lofty-voiced  strains  of  the  choristers.  The 
magnificence  of  the  setting  quite  dazzles  out  what  we 
Puritans  look  upon  as  the  jewel  of  the  whole  affair ; 
for  I presume  that  it  was  our  forefathers,  the  Dissen- 
ters in  England  and  America,  who  gave  the  sermon 
its  present  prominence  in  the  Sabbath  exercises. 


270 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


The  Methodists  are  probably  the  first  and  only 
Englishmen  who  have  worshipped  in  the  open  air 
since  the  ancient  Britons  listened  to  the  preaching  of 
the  Druids , and  it  reminded  me  of  that  old  priest- 
hood, to  see  certain  memorials  of  their  dusky  epoch 
— not  religious,  however,  but  warlike  — in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  spot  where  the  Methodist  was  holding 
forth.  These  were  some  ancient  barrows,  beneath  or 
within  which  are  supposed  to  lie  buried  the  slain  of  a 
forgotten  or  doubtfully  remembered  battle,  fought  on 
the  site  of  Greenwich  Park  as  long  ago  as  two  or 
three  centuries  after  the  birth  of  Christ.  Whatever 
may  once  have  been  their  height  and  magnitude,  they 
have  now  scarcely  more  prominence  in  the  actual  scene 
than  the  battle  of  which  they  are  the  sole  monuments 
retains  in  history,  — being  only  a few  mounds  side  by 
side,  elevated  a little  above  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
ten  or  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  with  a shallow  depres- 
sion in  their  summits.  When  one  of  them  was  opened, 
not  long  since,  no  bones,  nor  armor,  nor  weapons  were 
discovered,  nothing  but  some  small  jewels,  and  a tuft 
of  hair,  — perhaps  from  the  head  of  a valiant  general, 
who,  dying  on  the  field  of  his  victory,  bequeathed  this 
lock,  together  with  his  indestructible  fame,  to  after 
ages.  The  hair  and  jewels  are  probably  in  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  where  the  potsherds  and  rubbish  of  in- 
numerable generations  make  the  visitor  wish  that  each 
passing  century  could  carry  off  all  its  fragments  and 
relics  along  with  it,  instead  of  adding  them  to  the  con- 
tinually accumulating  burden  which  human  knowledge 
is  compelled  to  lug  upon  its  back.  As  for  the  fame,  I 
know  not  what  has  become  of  it. 

After  traversing  the  Park,  we  come  into  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Greenwich  Hospital,  and  will  pass  through 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


271 


one  of  its  spacious  gateways  for  the  sake  of  glancing 
at  an  establishment  which  does  more  honor  to  the 
heart  of  England  than  anything  else  that  I am  ac- 
quainted with,  of  a public  nature.  It  is  very  seldom 
that  we  can  be  sensible  of  anything  like  kindliness  in 
the  acts  or  relations  of  such  an  artificial  thing  as  a 
National  Government.  Our  own  government,  I should 
conceive,  is  too  much  an  abstraction  ever  to  feel  any 
sympathy  for  its  maimed  sailors  and  soldiers,  though 
it  will  doubtless  do  them  a severe  kind  of  justice,  as 
chilling  as  the  touch  of  steel.  But  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Greenwich  pensioners  are  the  petted  children 
of  the  nation,  and  that  the  government  is  their  dry- 
nurse,  and  that  the  old  men  themselves  have  a child- 
like consciousness  of  their  position.  Very  likely,  a 
better  sort  of  life  might  have  been  arranged,  and  a 
wiser  care  bestowed  on  them  ; but,  such  as  it  is,  it  en- 
ables them  to  spend  a sluggish,  careless,  comfortable 
old  age,  grumbling,  growling,  gruff,  as  if  all  the  foul 
weather  of  their  past  years  were  pent  up  within  them, 
yet  not  much  more  discontented  than  such  weather- 
beaten and  battle -battered  fragments  of  human  kind 
must  inevitably  be.  Their  home,  in  its  outward  form, 
is  on  a very  magnificent  plan.  Its  germ  was  a royal 
palace,  the  full  expansion  of  which  has  resulted  in  a 
series  of  edifices  externally  more  beautiful  than  any 
English  palace  that  I have  seen,  consisting  of  several 
quadrangles  of  stately  architecture,  united  by  colon- 
nades and  gravel-walks,  and  enclosing  grassy  squares, 
with  statues  in  the  centre,  the  whole  extending  along 
the  Thames.  It  is  built  of  marble,  or  very  light-col- 
ored stone,  in  the  classic  style,  with  pillars  and  porti- 
cos, which  (to  my  own  taste,  and,  I fancy,  to  that  of 
the  old  sailors)  produce  but  a cold  and  shivery  effect 


272 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


in  the  English  climate.  Had  I been  the  architect,  I 
would  have  studied  the  characters,  habits,  and  predh 
lections  of  nautical  people  in  Wapping,  Rotherhithe, 
and  the  neighborhood  of  the  Tower  (places  which  I 
visited  in  affectionate  remembrance  of  Captain  Lem- 
uel Gulliver,  and  other  actual  or  mythological  naviga- 
tors), and  would  have  built  the  hospital  in  a kind  of 
ethereal  similitude  to  the  narrow,  dark,  ugly,  and  in- 
convenient, but  snug  and  cosey  homeliness  of  the 
sailor  boarding-houses  there.  There  can  be  no  ques- 
tion that  all  the  above  attributes,  or  enough  of  them 
to  satisfy  an  old  sailor’s  heart,  might  be  reconciled 
with  architectural  beauty  and  the  wholesome  contriv- 
ances of  modern  dwellings,  and  thus  a novel  and  gen- 
uine style  of  building  be  given  to  the  world. 

But  their  countrymen  meant  kindly  by  the  old  fel- 
lows in  assigning  them  the  ancient  royal  site  where 
Elizabeth  held  her  court  and  Charles  II.  began  to 
build  his  palace.  So  far  as  the  locality  went,  it  was 
treating  them  like  so  many  kings  ; and,  with  a discreet 
abundance  of  grog,  beer,  and  tobacco,  there  was  per- 
haps little  more  to  be  accomplished  in  behalf  of  men 
whose  whole  previous  lives  have  tended  to  unfit  them 
for  old  age.  Their  chief  discomfort  is  probably  for 
lack  of  something  to  do  or  think  about.  But,  judging 
by  the  few  whom  I saw,  a listless  habit  seems  to  have 
crept  over  them,  a dim  dreaminess  of  mood,  in  which 
they  sit  between  asleep  and  awake,  and  find  the  long 
day  wearing  towards  bedtime  without  its  having  made 
any  distinct  record  of  itself  upon  their  consciousness. 
Sitting  on  stone  benches  in  the  sunshine,  they  subside 
into  slumber,  or  nearly  so,  and  start  at  the  approach 
of  footsteps  echoing  under  the  colonnades,  ashamed  to 
be  caught  napping,  and  rousing  themselves  in  a hurry. 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


273 


as  formerly  on  the  midnight  watch  at  sea.  In  their 
brightest  moments,  they  gather  in  groups  and  bore 
one  another  with  endless  sea -yarns  about  their  voy- 
ages under  famous  admirals,  and  about  gale  and  calm, 
battle  and  chase,  and  all  that  class  of  incident  that 
has  its  sphere  on  the  deck  and  in  the  hollow  interior 
of  a ship,  where  their  world  has  exclusively  been.  For 
other  pastime,  they  quarrel  among  themselves,  com- 
rade with  comrade,  and  perhaps  shake  paralytic  fists 
in  furrowed  faces.  If  inclined  for  a little  exercise, 
they  can  bestir  their  wooden  legs  on  the  long  espla- 
nade that  borders  by  the  Thames,  criticising  the  rig  of 
passing  ships,  and  firing  off  volleys  of  malediction  at 
the  steamers,  which  have  made  the  sea  another  element 
than  that  they  used  to  be  acquainted  with.  All  this 
is  but  cold  comfort  for  the  evening  of  life,  yet  may 
compare  rather  favorably  with  the  preceding  portions 
of  it,  comprising  little  save  imprisonment  on  ship- 
board, in  the  course  of  which  they  have  been  tossed 
all  about  the  world  and  caught  hardly  a glimpse  of  it, 
forgetting  what  grass  and  trees  are,  and  never  finding 
out  what  woman  is,  though  they  may  have  encountered 
a painted  spectre  which  they  took  for  her.  A country 
owes  much  to  human  beings  whose  bodies  she  has  worn 
out  and  whose  immortal  part  she  has  left  undeveloped 
or  debased,  as  we  find  them  here  ; and  having  wasted 
an  idle  paragraph  upon  them,  let  me  now  suggest  that 
old  men  have  a kind  of  susceptibility  to  moral  impres- 
sions, and  even  (up  to  an  advanced  period)  a recep- 
tivity of  truth,  which  often  appears  to  come  to  them 
after  the  active  time  of  life  is  past.  The  Greenwich 
pensioners  might  prove  better  subjects  for  true  educa- 
tion now  than  in  their  school-boy  days  ; but  then  where 

VOL.  VII.  18 


274 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


is  the  Normal  School  that  could  educate  instructors  for 
such  a class  ? 

There  is  a beautiful  chapel  for  the  pensioners,  in  the 
classic  style,  over  the  altar  of  which  hangs  a picture 
by  West.  I never  could  look  at  it  long  enough  to 
make  out  its  design ; for  this  artist  (though  it  pains 
me  to  say  it  of  so  respectable  a countryman)  had  a 
gift  of  frigidity,  a knack  of  grinding  ice  into  his  paint, 
a power  of  stupefying  the  spectator’s  perceptions  and 
quelling  his  sympathy,  beyond  any  other  limner  that 
ever  handled  a brush.  In  spite  of  many  pangs  of  con- 
science, I seize  this  opportunity  to  wreak  a lifelong 
abhorrence  upon  the  poor,  blameless  man,  for  the  sake 
of  that  dreary  picture  of  Lear,  an  explosion  of  frosty 
fury,  that  used  to  be  a bugbear  to  me  in  the  Athe- 
naeum Exhibition.  Would  fire  burn  it,  I wonder? 

The  principal  thing  that  they  have  to  show  you, 
at  Greenwich  Hospital,  is  the  Painted  Hall.  It  is  a 
splendid  and  spacious  room,  at  least  a hundred  feet 
long  and  half  as  high,  with  a ceiling  painted  in  fresco 
by  Sir  J ames  Thornhill.  As  a work  of  art,  I presume, 
this  frescoed  canopy  has  little  merit,  though  it  pro- 
duces an  exceedingly  rich  effect  by  its  brilliant  color- 
ing and  as  a specimen  of  magnificent  upholstery.  The 
walls  of  the  grand  apartment  are  entirely  covered  with 
pictures,  many  of  them  representing  battles  and  other 
naval  incidents  that  were  once  fresher  in  the  world’s 
memory  than  now,  but  chiefly  portraits  of  old  admirals, 
comprising  the  whole  line  of  heroes  who  have  trod  the 
quarter-decks  of  British  ships  for  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  back.  Next  to  a tomb  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey, which  was  Nelson’s  most  elevated  object  of  ambi- 
tion, it  would  seem  to  be  the  highest  meed  of  a naval 
warrior  to  have  his  portrait  hung  up  in  the  Painted 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


275 


Hall ; but,  by  dint  of  victory  upon  victory,  these  illus- 
trious personages  have  grown  to  be  a mob,  and  by  no 
means  a very  interesting  one,  so  far  as  regards  the 
character  of  the  faces  here  depicted.  They  are  gen- 
erally commonplace,  and  often  singularly  stolid ; and 
I have  observed  (both  in  the  Painted  Hall  and  else- 
where, and  not  only  in  portraits,  but  in  the  actual  pres- 
ence of  such  renowned  people  as  I have  caught  glimpses 
of)  that  the  countenances  of  heroes  are  not  nearly  so 
impressive  as  those  of  statesmen,  — except,  of  course, 
in  the  rare  instances  where  warlike  ability  has  been  but 
the  one-sided  manifestation  of  a profound  genius  for 
managing  the  world’s  affairs.  Nine  tenths  of  these 
distinguished  admirals,  for  instance,  if  their  faces  tell 
truth,  must  needs  have  been  blockheads,  and  might 
have  served  better,  one  would  imagine,  as  wooden  fig- 
ure-heads for  their  own  ships  than  to  direct  any  diffi- 
cult and  intricate  scheme  of  action  from  the  quarter- 
deck. It  is  doubtful  whether  the  same  kind  of  men 
will  hereafter  meet  with  a similar  degree  of  success ; 
for  they  were  victorious  chiefly  through  the  old  Eng- 
lish hardihood,  exercised  in  a field  of  which  modern 
science  had  not  yet  got  possession.  Rough  valor  has 
lost  something  of  its  value  since  their  days,  and  must 
continue  to  sink  lower  and  lower  in  the  comparative 
estimate  of  warlike  qualities.  In  the  next  naval  war, 
as  between  England  and  France,  I would  bet,  me- 
thinks,  upon  the  Frenchman’s  head. 

It  is  remarkable,  however,  that  the  great  naval  hero 
of  England  — the  greatest,  therefore,  in  the  world,  and 
of  all  time  — had  none  of  the  stolid  characteristics 
that  belong  to  his  class,  and  cannot  fairly  be  accepted 
as  their  representative  man.  Foremost  in  the  rough- 
est of  professions,  he  was  as  delicately  organized  as  a 


276 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


woman,  and  as  painfully  sensitive  as  a poet.  More 
than  any  other  Englishman  he  won  the  love  and  ad- 
miration of  his  country,  but  won  them  through  the 
efficacy  of  qualities  that  are  not  English,  or,  at  all 
events,  were  intensified  in  his  case  and  made  poignant 
and  powerful  by  something  morbid  in  the  man,  which 
put  him  otherwise  at  cross-purposes  with  life.  He  was 
a man  of  genius  ; and  genius  in  an  Englishman  (not 
to  cite  the  good  old  simile  of  a pearl  in  the  oyster)  is 
usually  a symptom  of  a lack  of  balance  in  the  general 
making-up  of  the  character ; as  we  may  satisfy  our- 
selves by  running  over  the  list  of  their  poets,  for  ex- 
ample, and  observing  how  many  of  them  have  been 
sickly  or  deformed,  and  how  often  their  lives  have 
been  darkened  by  insanity.  An  ordinary  Englishman 
is  the  healthiest  and  wholesomest  of  human  beings ; an 
extraordinary  one  is  almost  always,  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, a sick  man.  It  was  so  with  Lord  Nelson.  The 
wonderful  contrast  or  relation  between  his  personal 
qualities,  the  position  which  he  held,  and  the  life  that 
he  lived,  makes  him  as  interesting  a personage  as  all 
history  has  to  show ; and  it  is  a pity  that  Southey’s 
biography  — so  good  in  its  superficial  way,  and  yet  so 
inadequate  as  regards  any  real  delineation  of  the  man 
< — should  have  taken  the  subject  out  of  the  hands  of 
some  writer  endowed  with  more  delicate  appreciation 
and  deeper  insight  than  that  genuine  Englishman  pos- 
sessed. But  Southey  accomplished  his  own  purpose, 
which,  apparently,  was  to  present  his  hero  as  a pattern 
for  England’s  young  midshipmen. 

But  the  English  capacity  for  hero-worship  is  full  to 
the  brim  with  what  they  are  able  to  comprehend  of 
Lord  Nelson’s  character.  Adjoining  the  Painted  Hal] 
is  a smaller  room,  the  walls  of  which  are  completely 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


277 


and  exclusively  adorned  with  pictures  of  the  great  Ad- 
miral’s  exploits.  We  see  the  frail,  ardent  man  in  all 
the  most  noted  events  of  his  career,  from  his  encoun- 
ter with  a Polar  Bear  to  his  deat^  at  Trafalgar,  quiv- 
ering here  and  there  about  the  ^^om  like  a blue,  lam- 
bent flame.  No  Briton  ever  enters'that  apartment  with* 
out  feeling  the  beef  and  ale  of  his  composition  stirred 
to  its  depths,  and  finding  himself  changed  into  a hero 
for  the  nonce,  however  stolid  his  brain,  however  tough 
his  heart,  however  unexcitable  his  ordinary  mood.  To 
confess  the  truth,  I myself,  though  belonging  to  an- 
other parish,  have  been  deeply  sensible  to  the  sublime 
recollections  there  aroused,  acknowledging  that  Nelson 
expressed  his  life  in  a kind  of  symbolic  poetry  which 
I had  as  much  right  to  understand  as  these  burly  isl- 
anders. Cool  and  critical  observer  as  I sought  to  be, 
I enjoyed  their  burst  of  honest  indignation  when  a vis- 
itor (not  an  American,  I am  glad  to  say)  thrust  his 
walking-stick  almost  into  Nelson’s  face,  in  one  of  the 
pictures,  by  way  of  pointing  a remark ; and  the  by- 
standers immediately  glowed  like  so  many  hot  coals, 
and  would  probably  have  consumed  the  offender  in 
their  wrath,  had  he  not  effected  his  retreat.  But  the 
most  sacred  objects  of  all  are  two  of  Nelson’s  coats, 
under  separate  glass  cases.  One  is  that  which  he  wore 
at  the  Battle  of  the  Nile,  and  it  is  now  sadly  injured 
by  moths,  which  will  quite  destroy  it  in  a few  years, 
unless  its  guardians  preserve  it  as  we  do  Washington’s 
military  suit  by  occasionally  baking  it  in  an  oven. 
The  other  is  the  coat  in  which  he  received  his  death- 
wound  at  Trafalgar.  On  its  breast  are  sewed  three  or 
four  stars  and  orders  of  knighthood,  now  much  dimmed 
by  time  and  damp,  but  which  glittered  brightly  enough 
on  the  battle-day  to  draw  the  fatal  aim  of  a French 


278 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


marksman.  The  bullet-hole  is  visible  on  the  shoulder, 
as  well  as  a part  of  the  golden  tassels  of  an  epaulet, 
the  rest  of  which  was  shot  away.  Over  the  coat  ia 
laid  a white  waistcoat,  with  a great  blood-stain  on  it, 
out  of  which  all  the  redness  has  utterly  faded,  leav- 
ing it  of  a dingy  yellow  hue,  in  the  threescore  years 
since  that  blood  gushed  out.  Yet  it  was  once  the  red- 
dest blood  in  England,  — Nelson’s  blood  ! 

The  hospital  stands  close  adjacent  to  the  town  of 
Greenwich,  which  will  always  retain  a kind  of  festal 
aspect  in  my  memory,  in  consequence  of  my  having 
first  become  acquainted  with  it  on  Easter  Monday. 
Till  a few  years  ago,  the  first  three  days  of  Easter 
were  a carnival  season  in  this  old  town,  during  which 
the  idle  and  disreputable  part  of  London  poured  itself 
into  the  streets  like  an  inundation  of  the  Thames,  — 
as  unclean  as  that  turbid  mixture  of  the  offscourings 
of  the  vast  city,  and  overflowing  with  its  grimy  pollu- 
tion whatever  rural  innocence,  if  any,  might  be  found 
in  the  suburban  neighborhood.  This  festivity  was 
called  Greenwich  Fair,  the  final  one  of  which,  in  an 
immemorial  succession,  it  was  my  fortune  to  behold. 

If  I had  bethought  myself  of  going  through  the  fair 
with  a note-book  and  pencil,  jotting  down  all  the 
prominent  objects,  I doubt  not  that  the  result  might 
have  been  a sketch  of  English  life  quite  as  character- 
istic and  worthy  of  historical  preservation  as  an  ac- 
count of  the  Roman  Carnival.  Having  neglected  to 
do  so,  I remember  little  more  than  a confusion  of  un- 
washed and  shabbily  dressed  people,  intermixed  with 
some  smarter  figures,  but,  on  the  whole,  presenting  a 
mobbish  appearance  such  as  we  never  see  in  our  own 
country.  It  taught  me  to  understand  why  Shake- 
speare, in  speaking  of  a crowd,  so  often  alludes  to  its 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


279 


attribute  of  evil  odor.  The  common  people  of  Eng* 
land,  I am  afraid,  have  no  daily  familiarity  with  even 
so  necessary  a thing  as  a wash-bowl,  not  to  mention  a 
bathing-tub.  And,  furthermore,  it  is  one  mighty  dif- 
ference between  them  and  us,  that  every  man  and 
woman  on  our  side  of  the  water  has  a working-day 
suit  and  a holiday  suit,  and  is  occasionally  as  fresh  as 
a rose,  whereas,  in  the  good  old  country,  the  griminess 
of  his  labor  or  squalid  habits  clings  forever  to  the  in- 
dividual, and  gets  to  be  a part  of  his  personal  sub- 
stance. These  are  broad  facts,  involving  great  corol- 
laries and  dependencies.  There  are  really,  if  you  stop 
to  think  about  it,  few  sadder  spectacles  in  the  world 
than  a ragged  coat,  or  a soiled  and  shabby  gown,  at  a 
festival. 

This  unfragrant  crowd  was  exceedingly  dense,  be- 
ing welded  together,  as  it  were,  in  the  street  through 
which  we  strove  to  make  our  way.  On  either  side 
were  oyster-stands,  stalls  of  oranges  (a  very  prevalent 
fruit  in  England,  where  they  give  the  withered  ones  a 
guise  of  freshness  by  boiling  them),  and  booths  cov- 
ered with  old  sail-cloth,  in  which  the  commodity  that 
most  attracted  the  eye  was  gilt  gingerbread.  It  was 
so  completely  enveloped  in  Dutch  gilding  that  I did 
not  at  first  recognize  an  old  acquaintance,  but  won- 
dered what  those  golden  crowns  and  images  could  be. 
There  were  likewise  drums  and  other  toys  for  small 
children,  and  a variety  of  showy  and  worthless  articles 
for  children  of  a larger  growth ; though  it  perplexed 
me  to  imagine  who,  in  such  a mob,  could  have  the  in- 
nocent taste  to  desire  playthings,  or  the  money  to  pay 
for  them.  Not  that  I have  a right  to  accuse  the  mob, 
on  my  own  knowledge,  of  being  any  less  innocent  than 
a set  of  cleaner  and  better  dressed  people  might  have 


280 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


been ; for,  though  one  of  them  stole  my  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, I could  not  but  consider  it  fair  game,  under 
the  circumstances,  and  was  grateful  to  the  thief  for 
sparing  me  my  purse.  They  were  quiet,  civil,  and  re- 
markably good-humored,  making  due  allowance  for 
the  national  gruffness ; there  was  no  riot,  no  tumul- 
tuous swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  mass,  such  as  I have 
often  noted  in  an  American  crowd ; no  noise  of  voices, 
except  frequent  bursts  of  laughter,  hoarse  or  shrill, 
and  a widely  diffused,  inarticulate  murmur,  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  the  rumbling  of  the  tide  among 
the  arches  of  London  Bridge.  What  immensely  per- 
plexed me  was  a sharp,  angry  sort  of  rattle,  in  all 
quarters,  far  off  and  close  at  hand,  and  sometimes 
right  at  my  own  back,  where  it  sounded  as  if  the  stout 
fabric  of  my  English  surtout  had  been  ruthlessly  rent 
in  twain ; and  everybody’s  clothes,  all  over  the  fair, 
were  evidently  being  torn  asunder  in  the  same  way. 
By  and  by,  I discovered  that  this  strange  noise  was 
produced  by  a little  instrument  called  “The  Fun  of 
the  Fair,” — a sort  of  rattle,  consisting  of  a wooden 
wheel,  the  cogs  of  which  turn  against  a thin  slip  of 
wood,  and  so  produce  a rasping  sound  when  drawn 
smartly  against  a person’s  back.  The  ladies  draw 
their  rattles  against  the  backs  of  their  male  friends 
(and  everybody  passes  for  a friend  at  Greenwich 
Fair),  and  the  young  men  return  the  compliment  on 
the  broad  British  backs  of  the  ladies  ; and  all  are 
bound  by  immemorial  custom  to  take  it  in  good  part 
and  be  merry  at  the  joke.  As  it  was  one  of  my  pre- 
scribed official  duties  to  give  an  account  of  such  me- 
chanical contrivances  as  might  be  unknown  in  my  own 
country,  I have  thought  it  right  to  be  thus  particular 
in  describing  the  Fun  of  the  Fair. 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


281 


But  this  was  far  from  being  the  sole  amusement. 
There  were  theatrical  booths,  in  front  of  which  were 
pictorial  representations  of  the  scenes  to  be  enacted 
within ; and  anon  a drummer  emerged  from  one  of 
them,  thumping  on  a terribly  lax  drum,  and  followed 
by  the  entire  dramatis  personce,)  who  ranged  them 
selves  on  a wooden  platform  in  front  of  the  theatre 
They  were  dressed  in  character,  but  v/ofully  shabby, 
with  very  dingy  and  wrinkled  white  tights,  threadbare 
cotton-velvets,  crumpled  silks,  and  crushed  muslin,  and 
all  the  gloss  and  glory  gone  out  of  their  aspect  and  at- 
tire, seen  thus  in  the  broad  daylight  and  after  a long 
series  of  performances.  They  sang  a song  together, 
and  withdrew  into  the  theatre,  whither  the  public  were 
invited  to  follow  them  at  the  inconsiderable  cost  of  a 
penny  a ticket.  Before  another  booth  stood  a pair  of 
brawny  fighting-men,  displaying  their  muscle,  and  so- 
liciting patronage  for  an  exhibition  of  the  noble  Brit- 
ish art  of  pugilism.  There  were  pictures  of  giants, 
monsters,  and  outlandish  beasts,  most  prodigious,  to 
be  sure,  and  worthy  of  all  admiration,  unless  the  artist 
had  gone  incomparably  beyond  his  subject.  Jugglers 
proclaimed  aloud  the  miracles  which  they  were  pre- 
pared to  work;  and  posture-makers  dislocated  every 
joint  of  their  bodies  and  tied  their  limbs  into  inextri- 
cable knots,  wherever  they  could  find  space  to  spread 
a little  square  of  carpet  on  the  ground.  In  the  midst 
of  the  confusion,  while  everybody  was  treading  on  his 
neighbor’s  toes,  some  little  boys  were  very  solicitous 
to  brush  your  boots.  These  lads,  I believe,  are  a prod- 
uct of  modern  society,  — at  least,  no  older  than  the 
time  of  Gay,  who  celebrates  their  origin  in  his  “ Tri- 
via ” ; but  in  most  other  respects  the  scene  reminded 
me  of  Bunyan’s  description  of  Vanity  Fair, — nor  is 


282 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


it  at  all  improbable  that  the  Pilgrim  may  have  been  a 
merry-maker  here  in  his  wild  youth. 

It  seemed  very  singular  — though,  of  course,  I im- 
mediately classified  it  as  an  English  characteristic  — 
to  see  a great  many  portable  weighing-machines,  the 
owners  of  which  cried  out  continually  and  amain, 
‘‘  Come,  know  your  weight ! Come,  come,  know  your 
weight  to-day ! Come,  know  your  weight ! ” and  a 
multitude  of  people,  mostly  large  in  the  girth,  were 
moved  by  this  vociferation  to  sit  down  in  the  ma- 
chines. I know  not  whether  they  valued  themselves 
on  their  beef,  and  estimated  their  standing  as  mem- 
bers of  society  at  so  much  a pound ; but  I shall  set  it 
down  as  a national  peculiarity,  and  a symbol  of  the 
prevalence  of  the  earthly  over  the  spiritual  element, 
that  Englishmen  are  wonderfully  bent  on  knowing 
how  solid  and  physically  ponderous  they  are. 

On  the  whole,  having  an  appetite  for  the  brown 
bread  and  the  tripe  and  sausages  of  life,  as  well  as  for 
its  nicer  cates  and  dainties,  I enjoyed  the  scene,  and 
was  amused  at  the  sight  of  a gruff  old  Greenwich  pen- 
sioner, w^ho,  forgetful  of  the  sailor-frolics  of  his  young 
days,  stood  looking  with  grim  disapproval  at  all  these 
vanities.  Thus  we  squeezed  our  way  through  the 
mob-jammed  town,  and  emerged  into  the  Park,  where, 
likewise,  we  met  a great  many  merry-makers,  but  with 
freer  space  for  their  gambols  than  in  the  streets.  We 
soon  found  ourselves  the  targets  for  a cannonade  with 
oranges  (most  of  them  in  a decayed  condition),  which 
went  humming  past  our  ears  from  the  vantage-ground 
of  neighboring  hillocks,  sometimes  hitting  our  sacred 
persons  with  an  inelastic  thump.  This  was  one  of  the 
privileged  freedoms  of  the  time,  and  was  nowise  to  be 
resented,  except  by  returning  the  salute.  Many  per. 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


283 


sons  were  running  races,  hand  in  hand,  down  the  de- 
clivities, especially  that  steepest  one  on  the  summit  of 
which  stands  the  world-central  Observatory,  and  (as 
in  the  race  of  life)  the  partners  were  usually  male  and 
female,  and  often  caught  a tumble  together  before 
reaching  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  Hereabouts  we  were 
pestered  and  haunted  by  two  young  girls,  the  eldest 
not  more  than  thirteen,  teasing  us  to  buy  matches  ; 
and  finding  no  market  for  their  commodity,  the  taller 
one  suddenly  turned  a somerset  before  our  faces,  and 
rolled  heels  over  head  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  hill 
on  which  we  stood.  Then,  scrambling  up  the  accliv- 
ity, the  topsy-turvy  trollop  offered  us  her  matches 
again,  as  demurely  as  if  she  had  never  flung  aside  her 
equilibrium  ; so  that,  dreading  a repetition  of  the  feat, 
we  gave  her  sixpence  and  an  admonition,  and  enjoined 
her  never  to  do  so  any  more. 

The  most  curious  amusement  that  we  witnessed 
here  — or  anywhere  else,  indeed  — was  an  ancient  and 
hereditary  pastime  called  Kissing  in  the  Ring.”  I 
shall  describe  the  sport  exactly  as  I saw  it,  although 
an  English  friend  assures  me  that  there  are  certain 
ceremonies  with  a handkerchief,  which  make  it  much 
more  decorous  and  graceful.  A handkerchief,  indeed ! 
There  was  no  such  thing  in  the  crowd,  except  it  were 
the  one  which  they  had  just  filched  out  of  my  pocket. 
It  is  one  of  the  simplest  kinds  of  games,  needing  little 
or  no  practice  to  make  the  player  altogether  perfect ; 
and  the  manner  of  it  is  this.  A ring  is  formed  (in 
the  present  case,  it  was  of  large  circumference  and 
thickly  gemmed  around  with  faces,  mostly  on  the 
broad  grin),  into  the  centre  of  which  steps  an  adven- 
turous youth,  and,  looking  round  the  circle,  selects 
whatever  maiden  may  most  delight  his  eye.  He  pre- 


284 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


sents  his  hand  (which  she  is  bound  to  accept),  leads 
her  into  the  centre,  salutes  her  on  the  lips,  and  retires, 
taking  his  stand  in  the  expectant  circle.  The  girl,  in 
her  turn,  throws  a favorable  regard  on  some  fortunate 
young  man,  offers  her  hand  to  lead  him  forth,  makes 
him  happy  with  a maidenly  kiss,  and  withdraws  to 
hide  her  blushes,  if  any  there  be,  among  the  simpering 
faces  in  the  ring ; while  the  favored  swain  loses  no 
time  in  transferring  her  salute  to  the  prettiest  and 
plumpest  among  the  many  mouths  that  are  primming 
themselves  in  anticipation.  And  thus  the  thing  goes 
on,  till  all  the  festive  throng  are  inwreathed  and  in- 
tertwined into  an  endless  and  inextricable  chain  of 
kisses ; though,  indeed,  it  smote  me  with  compassion 
to  reflect  that  some  forlorn  pair  of  lips  might  be  left 
out,  and  never  know  the  triumph  of  a salute,  after 
throwing  aside  so  many  delicate  reserves  for  the  sake 
of  winning  it.  If  the  young  men  had  any  chivalry, 
there  was  a fair  chance  to  display  it  by  kissing  the 
homeliest  damsel  in  the  circle. 

To  be  frank,  however,  at  the  first  glance,  and  to  my 
American  eye,  they  looked  all  homely  alike,  and  the 
chivalry  that  I suggest  is  more  than  I could  have  been 
capable  of,  at  any  period  of  my  life.  They  seemed  to 
be  country  - lasses,  of  sturdy  and  wholesome  aspect, 
with  coarse-grained,  cabbage-rosy  cheeks,  and,  I am 
willing  to  suppose,  a stout  texture  of  moral  principle, 
such  as  woidd  bear  a good  deal  of  rough  usage  without 
suffering  much  detriment.  But  how  unlike  the  trim 
little  damsels  of  my  native  land  ! I desire  above  all 
things  to  be  courteous ; but,  since  the  plain  truth  must 
be  told,  the  soil  and  climate  of  England  produce  fem- 
inine beauty  as  rarely  as  they  do  delicate  fruit ; and 
though  admirable  specimens  of  both  are  to  be  met 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


286 


with,  they  are  the  hot-house  ameliorations  of  refined 
society,  and  apt,  moreover,  to  relapse  into  the  coarse- 
ness of  the  original  stock.  The  men  are  manlike,  but 
the  women  are  not  beautiful,  though  the  female  Bull 
be  well  enough  adapted  to  the  male.  To  return  to  the 
lasses  of  Greenwich  Fair,  their  charms  were  few,  and 
their  behavior,  perhaps,  not  altogether  commendable ; 
and  yet  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  a degree  of  faith 
in  their  innocent  intentions,  with  such  a half-bashful 
zest  and  entire  simplicity  did  they  keep  up  their  part 
of  the  game.  It  put  the  spectator  in  good-humor  to 
look  at  them,  because  there  was  still  something  of  the 
old  Arcadian  life,  the  secure  freedom  of  the  antique 
age,  in  their  way  of  surrendering  their  lips  to  stran- 
gers, as  if  there  were  no  evil  or  impurity  in  the  world. 
As  for  the  young  men,  they  were  chiefly  specimens  of 
the  vulgar  sediment  of  London  life,  often  shabbily  gen- 
teel, rowdyish,  pale,  wearing  the  unbrushed  coat,  uii- 
shifted  linen,  and  unwashed  faces  of  yesterday,  as  well 
as  the  haggardness  of  last  night’s  jollity  in  a gin-shop. 
Gathering  their  character  from  these  tokens,  I won- 
dered whether  there  were  any  reasonable  prospect  of 
their  fair  partners  returning  to  their  rustic  homes  with 
as  much  innocence  (whatever  were  its  amount  or  qual- 
ity) as  they  brought  to  Greenwich  Fair,  in  spite  of 
the  perilous  familiarity  established  by  Kissing  in  the 
Ring. 

The  manifold  disorders  resulting  from  the  fair,  at 
which  a vast  city  was  brought  into  intimate  relations 
with  a comparatively  rural  district,  have  at  length  led 
to  its  suppression  ; this  was  the  very  last  celebration 
of  it,  and  brought  to  a close  the  broad-mouthed  merri- 
ment of  many  hundred  years.  Thus  my  poor  sketch, 
faint  as  its  colors  are,  may  acquire  some  little  value  in 


286 


A LONDON  SUBURB. 


the  reader’s  eyes  from  the  consideration  that  no  obser- 
ver of  the  coming  time  will  ever  have  an  opportunity 
to  give  a better.  I should  find  it  difficult  to  believe, 
however,  that  the  queer  pastime  just  described,  or  any 
moral  mischief  to  which  that  and  other  customs  might 
pave  the  way,  can  have  led  to  the  overthrow  of  Green- 
wich Fair  ; for  it  has  often  seemed  to  me  that  Eng- 
lishmen of  station  and  respectability,  unless  of  a pe- 
culiarly philanthropic  turn,  have  neither  any  faith  in 
the  feminine  purity  of  the  lower  orders  of  their  coun- 
trywomen, nor  the  slightest  value  for  it,  allowing  its 
possible  existence.  The  distinction  of  ranks  is  so 
marked,  that  the  English  cottage  damsel  holds  a posi- 
tion somewhat  analogous  to  that  of  the  negro  girl  in 
our  Southern  States.  Hence  comes  inevitable  detri- 
ment to  the  moral  condition  of  those  men  themselves, 
who  forget  that  the  humblest  woman  has  a right  and 
a duty  to  hold  herself  in  the  same  sanctity  as  the  high- 
est. The  subject  cannot  well  be  discussed  in  these 
pages  ; but  I offer  it  as  a serious  conviction,  from  what 
I have  been  able  to  observe,  that  the  England  of  to- 
day is  the  unscrupulous  old  England  of  Tom  Jones 
and  Joseph  Andrews,  Humphrey  Clinker  and  Roder- 
ick Random ; and  in  our  refined  era,  just  the  same  as 
at  that  more  free-spoken  epoch,  this  singular  people 
has  a certain  contempt  for  any  fine-strained  purity, 
any  special  squeamishness,  as  they  consider  it,  on  the 
part-  of  an  ingenuous  youth.  They  appear  to  look 
upon  it  as  a suspicious  phenomenon  in  the  masculine 
character. 

Nevertheless,  I by  no  means  take  upon  me  to  affirm 
that  English  morality,  as  regards  the  phase  here  al- 
luded to,  is  really  at  a lower  point  than  our  own.  As- 
suredly, I hope  so,  because,  making  a higher  preteu 


A LONDON  SUBURB, 


287 


sion,  or,  at  all  events,  more  carefully  hiding  whatever 
may  be  amiss,  we  are  either  better  than  they,  or  neces  - 
sarily a great  deal  worse.  It  impressed  me  that  their 
open  avowal  and  recognition  of  immoralities  served 
to  throw  the  disease  to  the  surface,  where  it  might  be 
more  effectually  dealt  with,  and  leave  a sacred  interior 
not  utterly  profaned,  instead  of  turning  its  poison  back 
among  the  inner  vitalities  of  the  character,  at  the  im- 
minent risk  of  corrupting  them  all.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  these  Englishmen  are  certainly  a franker  and 
simpler  people  than  ourselves,  from  peer  to  peasant ; 
but  if  we  can  take  it  as  compensatory  on  our  part 
(which  I leave  to  be  considered)  that  they  owe  those 
noble  and  manly  qualities  to  a coarser  grain  in  their 
nature,  and  that,  with  a finer  one  in  ours,  we  shall  ul- 
timately acquire  a marble  polish  of  which  they  are  un 
susceptible,  I believe  that  this  may  be  the  truth. 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


The  upper  portion  of  Greenwich  (where  my  last 
article  left  me  loitering)  is  a cheerful,  comely,  old- 
fashioned  town,  the  peculiarities  of  which,  if  there  be 
any,  have  passed  out  of  my  remembrance.  As  you 
descend  towards  the  Thames  the  streets  get  meaner, 
and  the  shabby  and  sunken  houses,  elbowing  one  an- 
other for  frontage,  bear  the  sign-boards  of  beer-shops 
and  eating-rooms,  with  especial  promises  of  white-bait 
and  other  delicacies  in  the  fishing  line.  You  observe, 
also,  a frequent  announcement  of  ‘‘  Tea  Gardens  ” in 
the  rear ; although,  estimating  the  capacity  of  the 
premises  by  their  external  compass,  the  entire  sylvan 
charm  and  shadowy  seclusion  of  such  blissful  resorts 
must  be  limited  within  a small  back-yard.  These 
places  of  cheap  sustenance  and  recreation  depend  for 
support  upon  the  innumerable  pleasure-parties  who 
come  from  London  Bridge  by  steamer,  at  a fare  of  a 
few  pence,  and  who  get  as  enjoyable  a meal  for  a shil- 
ling a head  as  the  Ship  Hotel  would  afford  a gentle- 
man for  a guinea. 

The  steamers,  which  are  constantly  smoking  their 
pipes  up  and  down  the  Thames,  offer  much  the  most 
agreeable  mode  of  getting  to  London.  At  least,  it 
might  be  exceedingly  agreeable,  except  for  the  myriad 
fioating  particles  of  soot  from  the  stove-pipe,  and  the 
heavy  heat  of  midsummer  sunshine  on  the  unsheltered 
deck,  or  the  chill,  misty  air-draught  of  a cloudy  day, 
and  the  spiteful  little  showers  of  rain  that  may  spatter 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


289 


down  upon  you  at  any  moment,  whatever  the  promise 
of  the  sky  ; besides  which  there  is  some  slight  incon- 
venience from  the  inexhaustible  throng  of  passengers, 
w^ho  scarcely  allow  you  standing-room,  nor  so  much  as 
a breath  of  unappropriated  air,  and  never  a chance  to 
sit  down.  If  these  difficulties,  added  to  the  possibility 
of  getting  your  pocket  picked,  weigh  little  with  you, 
the  panorama  along  the  shores  of  the  memorable  river, 
and  the  incidents  and  shows  of  passing  life  u]3on  its 
bosom,  render  the  trip  far  preferable  to  the  brief  yet 
tiresome  shoot  along  the  railway  track.  On  one  such 
voyage,  a regatta  of  wherries  raced  past  us,  and  at 
once  involved  every  soul  on  board  our  steamer  in  the 
tremendous  excitement  of  the  struggle.  The  spectacle 
was  but  a moment  within  our  view,  and  presented 
nothing  more  than  a few  light  skiffs,  in  each  of  which 
sat  a single  rower,  bare-armed,  and  with  little  apparel, 
save  a shirt  and  drawers,  pale,  anxious,  with  every 
muscle  on  the  stretch,  and  plying  his  oars  in  such 
fashion  that  the  boat  skimmed  along  with  the  aerial 
celerity  of  a swallow.  I wondered  at  myself  for  so 
immediately  catching  an  interest  in  the  affair,  which 
seemed  to  contain  no  very  exalted  rivalship  of  man- 
hood ; but,  whatever  the  kind  of  battle  or  the  prize 
of  victory,  it  stirs  one’s  sympathy  immensely,  and  is 
even  awful,  to  behold  the  rare  sight  of  a man  thor- 
oughly in  earnest,  doing  his  best,  putting  forth  all 
there  is  in  him,  and  staking  his  very  soul  (as  these 
rowers  appeared  willing  to  do)  on  the  issue  of  the 
contest.  It  was  the  seventy-fourth  annual  regatta  of 
the  Free  Watermen  of  Greenwich,  and  announced  it- 
self as  under  the  patronage  of  the  Lord  Mayor  and 
other  distinguished  individuals,  at  whose  expense,  I 
suppose,  a prize -boat  was  offered  to  the  conqueror, 

VOL.  VII,  19 


290 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


and  some  small  amounts  of  money  to  the  inferior  com<i 
petitors. 

The  aspect  of  London  along  the  Thames,  below 
Bridge,  as  it  is  called,  is  by  no  means  so  impressive  as 
it  ought  to  be,  considering  what  peculiar  advantages 
are  offered  for  the  display  of  grand  and  stately  archi- 
tecture by  the  passage  of  a river  through  the  midst  of 
a great  city.  It  seems,  indeed,  as  if  the  heart  of  Lon- 
don had  been  cleft  open  for  the  mere  purpose  of  show- 
ing how  rotten  and  drearily  mean  it  had  become.  The 
shore  is  lined  with  the  shabbiest,  blackest,  and  ugliest 
buildings  that  can  be  imagined,  decayed  warehouses 
with  blind  windows,  and  wharves  that  look  ruinous ; 
insomuch  that,  had  I known  nothing  more  of  the 
world’s  metropolis,  I might  have  fancied  that  it  had 
already  experienced  the  downfall  which  I have  heard 
commercial  and  financial  prophets  predict  for  it,  within 
the  century.  And  the  muddy  tide  of  the  Thames,  re- 
flecting nothing,  and  hiding  a million  of  unclean  se- 
crets within  its  breast,  — a sort  of  guilty  conscience,  as 
it  were,  unwholesome  with  the  rivulets  of  sin  that  con- 
stantly flow  into  it,  — is  just  the  dismal  stream  to  glide 
by  such  a city.  The  surface,  to  be  sure,  displays  no 
lack  of  activity,  being  fretted  by  the  passage  of  a hun- 
dred steamers  and  covered  with  a good  deal  of  ship- 
ping, but  mostly  of  a clumsier  build  than  I had  been 
accustomed  to  see  in  the  Mersey : a fact  which  I com- 
placently attributed  to  the  smaller  number  of  Ameri- 
can clippers  in  the  Thames,  and  the  less  prevalent  in- 
fluence of  American  example  in  refining  away  the 
broad-bottomed  capacity  of  the  old  Dutch  or  English 
models. 

About  midway  between  Greenwich  and  London 
Bridge,  at  a rude  landing-place  on  the  left  bank  of 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


291 


the  river,  the  steamer  rings  its  bell  and  makes  a mo- 
mentary pause  in  front  of  a large  circular  structure, 
where  it  may  be  worth  our  while  to  scramble  ashore. 
It  indicates  the  locality  of  one  of  those  prodigious 
practical  blunders  that  would  supply  John  Bull  with 
a topic  of  inexhaustible  ridicule,  if  his  cousin  Jona- 
than had  committed  them,  but  of  which  he  himself 
perpetrates  ten  to  our  one  in  the  mere  wantonness  of 
wealth  that  lacks  better  employment.  The  circular 
building  covers  the  entrance  to  the  Thames  Tunnel, 
and  is  surmounted  by  a dome  of  glass,  so  as  to  throw 
daylight  down  into  the  great  depth  at  which  the  pas- 
sage of  the  river  commences.  Descending  a wearisome 
succession  of  staircases,  we  at  last  find  ourselves,  still 
in  the  broad  noon,  standing  before  a closed  door,  on 
opening  which  we  behold  the  vista  of  an  arched  corri- 
dor that  extends  into  everlasting  midnight.  In  these 
days,  when  glass  has  been  applied  to  so  many  new 
purposes^  it  is  a pity  that  the  architect  had  not  thought 
of  arching  portions  of  his  abortive  tunnel  with  im- 
mense blocks  of  the  lucid  substance,  over  which  the 
dusky  Thames  would  have  flowed  like  a cloud,  making 
the  sub  - fluvial  avenue  only  a little  gloomier  than  a 
street  of  upper  London.  At  present,  it  is  illuminated 
at  regular  intervals  by  jets  of  gas,  not  very  brilliantly, 
yet  with  lustre  enough  to  show  the  damp  plaster  of 
the  ceiling  and  walls,  and  the  massive  stone  pavement, 
the  crevices  of  which  are  oozy  with  moisture,  not  from 
the  incumbent  river,  but  from  hidden  springs  in  the 
earth’s  deeper  heart.  There  are  two  parallel  corridors, 
with  a wall  between,  for  the  separate  accommodation 
of  the  double  throng  of  foot-passengers,  equestrians, 
and  vehicles  of  all  kinds,  which  was  expected  to  roll 
and  reverberate  continually  through  the  Tunnel.  Only 


292 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


one  of  them  has  ever  been  opened,  and  its  echoes  are 
but  feebly  awakened  by  infrequent  footfalls. 

Yet  there  seem  to  be  people  who  spend  their  lives 
here,  and  who  probably  blink  like  owls,  when,  once  or 
twice  a year,  perhaps,  they  happen  to  climb  into  the 
sunshine.  All  along  the  corridor,  which  I believe  to 
be  a mile  in  extent,  we  see  stalls  or  shops  in  little 
alcoves,  kept  principally  by  women  ; they  were  of  a 
ripe  age,  I was  glad  to  observe,  and  certainly  robbed 
England  of  none  of  its  very  moderate  supply  of  femi- 
nine loveliness  by  their  deeper  than  tomb-like  inter- 
ment. As  you  approach  (and  they  are  so  accustomed 
to  the  dusky  gaslight  that  they  read  all  your  charac- 
teristics afar  off),  they  assail  you  with  hungry  entrea- 
ties to  buy  some  of  their  merchandise,  holding  forth 
views  of  the  Tunnel  put  up  in  cases  of  Derbyshire 
spar,  with  a magnifying-glass  at  one  end  to  make  the 
vista  more  effective.  They  offer  you,  besides,  cheap 
jewelry,  sunny  topazes  and  resplendent  emeralds  for 
sixpence,  and  diamonds  as  big  as  the  Koh-i-noor  at 
a not  much  heavier  cost,  together  with  a multifarious 
trumpery  which  has  died  out  of  the  upper  world  to  re- 
appear in  this  Tartarean  bazaar.  That  you  may  fancy 
yourself  still  in  the  realms  of  the  living,  they  urge  you 
to  partake  of  cakes,  candy,  ginger-beer,  and  such  small 
refreshment,  more  suitable,  however,  for  the  shadowy 
appetite  of  ghosts  than  for  the  sturdy  stomachs  of 
Englishmen.  The  most  capacious  of  the  shops  con- 
tains a dioramic  exhibition  of  cities  and  scenes  in  the 
daylight  world,  with  a dreary  glimmer  of  gas  among 
them  all ; so  that  they  serve  well  enough  to  represent 
the  dim,  unsatisfactory  remembrances  that  dead  people 
might  be  supposed  to  retain  from  their  past  lives,  mix- 
ing them  up  with  the  ghastliness  of  their  unsubstantial 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


298 


state.  I dwell  the  more  upon  these  trifles,  and  do  my 
best  to  give  them  a mockery  of  importance,  because,  if 
these  are  nothing,  then  all  this  elaborate  contrivance 
and  mighty  piece  of  work  has  been  wrought  in  vain. 
The  Englishman  has  burrowed  under  the  bed  of  his 
great  river,  and  set  ships  of  two  or  three  thousand 
tons  a-rolling  over  his  head,  only  to  provide  new  sites 
for  a few  old  women  to  sell  cakes  and  ginger-beer ! 

Yet  the  conception  was  a grand  one  ; and  though  it 
has  proved  an  absolute  failure,  swallowing  an  immen- 
sity of  toil  and  money,  with  anual  returns  hardly  suf- 
ficient to  keep  the  pavement  free  from  the  ooze  of 
subterranean  springs,  yet  it  needs,  I presume  only 
an  expenditure  three  or  four  (or,  for  aught  I know, 
twenty)  times  as  large,  to  make  the  enterprise  brill- 
iantly successful.  The  descent  is  so  great  from  the 
bank  of  the  river  to  its  surface,  and  the  Tunnel  dips 
so  profoundly  under  the  river’s  bed,  that  the  ap- 
proaches on  either  side  must  commence  a long  way 
off,  in  order  to  render  the  entrance  accessible  to  horse- 
men or  vehicles ; so  that  the  larger  part  of  the  cost  of 
the  whole*  affair  should  have  been  expended  on  its 
margins.  It  has  turned  out  a sublime  piece  of  folly ; 
and  when  the  New  - Zealander  of  distant  ages  shall 
have  moralized  sufficiently  among  the  ruins  of  London 
Bridge,  he  will  bethink  himself  that  somewhere  there- 
about was  the  marvellous  Tunnel,  the  very  existence 
of  which  will  seem  to  him  as  incredible  as  that  of  the 
hanging  gardens  of  Babylon.  But  the  Thames  will 
long  ago  have  broken  through  the  massive  arch,  and 
choked  up  the  corridors  with  mud  and  sand  and  with 
the  large  stones  of  the  structure  itself,  intermixed  with 
skeletons  of  drowned  people,  the  rusty  ironwork  of 
sunken  vessels,  and  the  great  many  such  precious  and 


294 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


curious  things  as  a river  always  contrives  to  hide  in 
its  bosom ; the  entrance  will  have  been  obliterated, 
and  its  very  site  forgotten  beyond  the  memory  of 
twenty  generations  of  men,  and  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood be  held  a dangerous  spot  on  account  of  the  mala- 
ria ; insomuch  that  the  traveller  will  make  but  a brief 
and  careless  inquisition  for  the  traces  of  the  old  won- 
der, and  will  stake  his  credit  before  the  public,  in 
some  Pacific  Monthly  of  that  day,  that  the  story  of  it 
is  but  a myth,  though  enriched  with  a spiritual  pro- 
fundity which  he  will  proceed  to  unfold. 

Yet  it  is  impossible  (for  a Yankee,  at  least)  to  see 
so  much  magnificent  ingenuity  thrown  away,  without 
trying  to  endow  the  unfortunate  result  with  some  kind 
of  usefulness,  though  perhaps  widely  different  from 
the  purpose  of  its  original  conception.  In  former  ages, 
the  mile-long  corridors,  with  their  numerous  alcoves, 
might  have  been  utilized  as  a series  of  dungeons,  the 
fittest  of  all  possible  receptacles  for  prisoners  of  state. 
Dethroned  monarchs  and  fallen  statesmen  would  not 
have  needed  to  remonstrate  against  a domicile  so  spa- 
cious, so  deeply  secluded  from  the  world’s*  scorn,  and 
so  admirably  in  accordance  with  their  thenceforward 
sunless  fortunes.  An  alcove  here  might  have  suited 
Sir  W alter  Raleigh  better  than  that  darksome  hiding- 
place  communicating  with  the  great  chamber  in  the 
Tower,  pacing  from  end  to  end  of  which  he  meditated 
upon  his  “ History  of  the  World.”  His  track  would 
here  have  been  straight  and  narrow,  indeed,  and  would 
therefore  have  lacked  somewhat  of  the  freedom  that 
his  intellect  demanded  ; and  yet  the  length  to  which 
his  footsteps  might  have  travelled  forth  and  retraced 
themselves  would  partly  have  harmonized  his  physical 
movement  with  the  grand  curves  and  planetary  returns 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


295 


of  his  thought,  through  cycles  of  majestic  periods. 
Having  it  in  his  mind  to  compose  the  world’s  history, 
methinks  he  could  have  asked  no  better  retirement 
than  such  a cloister  as  this,  insulated  from  all  the 
seductions  of  mankind  and  womankind,  deep  beneath 
their  mysteries  and  motives,  down  into  the  heart  of 
things,  full  of  personal  reminiscences  in  order  to  the 
comprehensive  measurement  and  verification  of  his* 
toric  records,  seeing  into  the  secrets  of  human  nature, 

— secrets  that  daylight  never  yet  revealed  to  mortal, 

— but  detecting  their  whole  scope  and  purport  with 
the  infallible  eyes  of  unbroken  solitude  and  night. 
And  then  the  shades  of  the  old  mighty  men  might 
have  risen  from  their  still  profounder  abodes  and 
joined  him  in  the  dim  corridor,  treading  beside  him 
with  an  antique  stateliness  of  mien,  telling  him  in 
melancholy  tones,  grand,  but  always  melancholy,  of 
the  greater  ideas  and  purposes  which  their  most  re- 
nowned performances  so  imperfectly  carried  out,  that, 
magnificent  successes  in  the  view  of  all  posterity,  they 
were  but  failures  to  those  who  planned  them.  As 
Raleigh  was  a navigator,  Noah  would  have  explained 
to  him  the  peculiarities  of  construction  that  made  the 
ark  so  seaworthy  ; as  Raleigh  was  a statesman,  Moses 
would  have  discussed  with  him  the  principles  of  laws 
and  government ; as  Raleigh  was  a soldier,  C^sar  and 
Hannibal  would  have  held  debate  in  his  presence,  with 
this  martial  student  for  their  umpire ; as  Raleigh  was 
a poet,  David,  or  whatever  most  illustrious  bard  he 
might  call  up,  would  have  touched  his  harp,  and  made 
manifest  all  the  true  significance  of  the  past  by  means 
of  song  and  the  subtle  intelligences  of  music. 

Meanwhile,  I had  forgotten  that  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh’s century  knew  nothing  of  gaslight,  and  that  it 


296 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


would  require  a prodigious  and  wasteful  expenditure 
of  tallow-candles  to  illummate  the  Tunnel  sufficiently 
to  discern  even  a ghost.  On  this  account,  however,  it 
would  be  all  the  more  suitable  place  of  confinement 
for  a metaphysician,  to  keep  him  from  bewildering 
mankind  with  his  shadowy  speculations ; and,  being 
shut  off  from  external  converse,  the  dark  corridor 
would  help  him  to  make  rich  discoveries  in  those  cav- 
ernous regions  and  mysterious  by-paths  of  the  intel- 
lect, which  he  had  so  long  accustomed  himself  to  ex- 
plore. But  how  would  every  successive  age  rejoice  in 
so  secure  a habitation  for  its  reformers,  and  especially 
for  each  best  and  wisest  man  that  happened  to  be  then 
alive  ! He  seeks  to  burn  up  our  whole  system  of  so- 
ciety, under  pretence  of  purifying  it  from  its  abuses  ! 
Away  with  him  into  the  Tunnel,  and  let  him  begin  by 
setting  the  Thames  on  fire,  if  he  is  able ! 

If  not  precisely  these,  yet  akin  to  these  were  some 
of  the  fantasies  that  haunted  me  as  I passed  under  the 
river : for  the  place  is  suggestive  of  such  idle  and  irre- 
sponsible stuff  by  its  own  abortive  character,  its  lack 
of  whereabout  on  upper  earth,  or  any  solid  foundation 
of  realities.  Could  I have  looked  forward  a few  years, 
I might  have  regretted  that  American  enterprise  had 
not  provided  a similar  tunnel,  under  the  Hudson  or 
the  Potomac,  for  the  convenience  of  our  National  Gov- 
ernment in  times  hardly  yet  gone  by.  It  would  be 
delightful  to  clap  up  all  the  enemies  of  our  peace  and 
Union  in  the  dark  together,  and  there  let  them  abide, 
listening  to  the  monotonous  roll  of  the  river  above 
their  heads,  or  perhaps  in  a state  of  miraculously  sus- 
pended animation,  until,  — be  it  after  months,  years, 
or  centuries,  — when  the  turmoil  shall  be  all  over,  the 
Wrong  washed  away  in  blood  (since  that  must  needs 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


297 


be  the  cleansing  fluid),  and  the  Right  firmly  rooted 
in  the  soil  which  that  blood  will  have  enriched,  they 
might  crawl  forth  again  and  catch  a single  glimpse  at 
their  redeemed  country,  and  feel  it  to  be  a better  land 
than  they  deserve,  and  die ! 

I was  not  sorry  when  the  daylight  reached  me  after 
a much  briefer  abode  in  the  nether  regions  than,  I 
fear,  would  await  the  troublesome  personages  just 
hinted  at.  Emerging  on  the  Surrey  side  of  the 
Thames,  I found  myself  in  Rotherhithe,  a neighbor- 
hood not  unfamiliar  to  the  readers  of  old  books  of 
maritime  adventure.  There  being  a ferry  hard  by 
the  mouth  of  the  Tunnel,  I recrossed  the  river  in  the 
primitive  fashion  of  an  open  boat,  which  the  conflict 
of  wind  and  tide,  together  with  the  swash  and  swell 
of  the  passing  steamers,  tossed  high  and  low  rather 
tumultuously.  This  inquietude  of  our  frail  skiff 
(which,  indeed,  bobbed  up  and  down  like  a cork)  so 
much  alarmed  an  old  lady,  the  only  other  passenger, 
that  the  boatmen  essayed  to  comfort  her.  Never 
fear,  mother  ! ” grumbled  one  of  them,  we  ’ll  make 
the  river  as  smooth  as  we  can  for  you.  W e ’ll  get  a 
plane,  and  plane  down  the  waves ! ” The  joke  may 
not  read  very  brilliantly ; but  I make  bold  to  record 
it  as  the  only  specimen  that  reached  my  ears  of  the 
old,  rough  water - wit  for  which  the  Thames  used  to 
be  so  celebrated.  Passing  directly  along  the  line  of 
the  sunken  Tunnel,  we  landed  in  Wapping,  which  I 
should  have  presupposed  to  be  the  most  tarry  and 
pitchy  spot  on  earth,  swarming  with  old  salts,  and 
full  of  warm,  bustling,  coarse,  homely,  and  cheerful 
life.  Nevertheless,  it  turned  out  to  be  a cold  and  tor- 
pid neighborhood,  mean,  shabby,  and  unpicturesque, 
both  as  to  its  buildings  and  inhabitants : the  latter 


298 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


comprising  (so  far  as  was  visible  to  me)  not  a single 
unmistakable  sailor,  though  plenty  of  land  - sharks, 
who  get  a half-dishonest  livelihood  by  business  con- 
nected with  the  sea.  Ale  and  spirit  vaults  (as  petty 
drinking -establishments  are  styled  in  England,  pre- 
tending to  contain  vast  cellars  full  of  liquor  within 
the  compass  of  ten  feet  square  above  ground)  were 
particularly  abundant,  together  with  apples,  oranges, 
and  oysters,  the  stalls  of  fishmongers  and  butchers, 
and  slop-shops,  where  blue  jackets  and  duck  trousers 
swung  and  capered  before  the  doors.  Everything 
was  on  the  poorest  scale,  and  the  place  bore  an  aspect 
of  unredeemable  decay.  From  this  remote  point  of 
London,  I strolled  leisurely  towards  the  heart  of  the 
city ; while  the  streets,  at  first  but  thinly  occupied  by 
man  or  vehicle,  got  more  and  more  thronged  with 
foot-passengers,  carts,  drays,  cabs,  and  the  all -per- 
vading and  all-accommodating  omnibus.  But  I lack 
courage,  and  feel  that  I should  lack  perseverance,  as 
the  gentlest  reader  would  lack  patience,  to  undertake 
a descriptive  stroll  through  London  streets ; more  es- 
pecially as  there  would  be  a volume  ready  for  the 
printer  before  we  could  reach  a midway  resting-place 
at  Charing  Cross.  It  will  be  the  easier  course  to  step 
aboard  another  passing  steamer,  and  continue  our  trip 
up  the  Thames. 

The  next  notable  group  of  objects  is  an  assemblage 
of  ancient  walls,  battlements,  and  turrets,  out  of  the 
midst  of  which  rises  prominently  one  great  square 
tower,  of  a grayish  hue,  bordered  with  white  stone, 
and  having  a small  turret  at  each  corner  of  the  roof. 
This  central  structure  is  the  White  Tower,  and  the 
whole  circuit  of  ramparts  and  enclosed  edifices  consti- 
tutes what  is  known  in  English  history,  and  still  more 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


299 


widely  and  impressively  in  English  poetry,  as  the 
Tower.  A crowd  of  river-craft  are  generally  moored 
in  front  of  it ; but  if  we  look  sharply  at  the  right  mo- 
ment under  the  base  of  the  rampart,  we  may  catch  a 
glimpse  of  an  arched  water-entrance,  half  submerged, 
past  which  the  Thames  glides  as  indifferently  as  if  it 
were  the  mouth  of  a city-kennel.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
the  Traitor’s  Gate,  a dreary  kind  of  triumphal  pas- 
sageway (now  supposed  to  be  shut  up  and  barred  for- 
ever), through  which  a multitude  of  noble  and  illus- 
trious personages  have  entered  the  Tower  and  found 
it  a brief  resting-place  on  their  way  to  heaven.  Pass- 
ing it  many  times,  I never  observed  that  anybody 
glanced  at  this  shadowy  and  ominous  trap-door,  save 
myself.  It  is  well  that  America  exists,  if  it  were  only 
that  her  vagrant  children  may  be  impressed  and  af- 
fected by  the  historical  monuments  of  England  in  a 
degree  of  which  the  native  inhabitants  are  evidently 
incapable.  These  matters  are  too  familiar,  too  real, 
and  too  hopelessly  built  in  amongst  and  mixed  up  with 
the  common  objects  and  affairs  of  life,  to  be  easily 
susceptible  of  imaginative  coloring  in  their  minds ; 
and  even  their  poets  and  romancers  feel  it  a toil,  and 
almost  a delusion,  to  extract  poetic  material  out  of 
what  seems  embodied  poetry  itself  to  an  American. 
An  Englishman  cares  nothing  about  the  Tower,  which 
to  us  is  a haunted  castle  in  dreamland.  That  honest 
and  excellent  gentleman,  the  late  Mr.  G.  P.  R.  James 
(whose  mechanical  ability,  one  might  have  supposed, 
would  nourish  itself  by  devouring  every  old  stone  of 
such  a structure),  once  assured  me  that  he  had  never 
in  his  life  set  eyes  upon  the  Tower,  though  for  years 
an  historic  novelist  in  London. 

Not  to  spend  a whole  summer’s  day  upon  the  voy- 


300 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


age,  we  will  suppose  ourselves  to  have  reached  London 
Bridge,  and  thence  to  have  taken  another  steamer  for  a 
farther  passage  up  the  river.  But  here  the  memorable 
objects  succeed  each  other  so  rapidly  that  I can  spare 
but  a single  sentence  even  for  the  great  Dome,  though 
I deem  it  more  picturesque,  in  that  dusky  atmosphere, 
than  St.  Peter’s  in  its  clear  blue  sky.  I must  mention, 
however  (since  everything  connected  with  royalty  is 
especially  interesting  to  my  dear  countrymen),  that  I 
once  saw  a large  and  beautiful  barge,  splendidly  gilded 
and  ornamented,  and  overspread  with  a rich  covering, 
lying  at  the  pier  nearest  to  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral ; it 
had  the  royal  banner  of  Great  Britain  displayed,  be- 
sides being  decorated  with  a number  of  other  flags  ; 
and  many  footmen  (who  are  universally  the  grandest 
and  gaudiest  objects  to  be  seen  in  England  at  this  day, 
and  these  were  regal  ones,  in  a bright  scarlet  livery  be- 
dizened with  gold-lace,  and  white  silk  stockings)  were 
in  attendance.  I know  not  what  festive  or  ceremonial 
occasion  may  have  drawn  out  this  pageant ; after  all, 
it  might  have  been  merely  a city-spectacle,  appertain- 
ing to  the  Lord  Mayor ; but  the  sight  had  its  value  in 
bringing  vividly  before  me  the  grand  old  times  when 
the  sovereign  and  nobles  were  accustomed  to  use  the 
Thames  as  the  high  street  of  the  metropolis,  and  join 
in  pompous  processions  upon  it ; whereas,  the  desue- 
tude of  such  customs,  nowadays,  has  caused  the  whole 
show  of  river-life  to  consist  in  a multitude  of  smoke- 
begrimed  steamers.  An  analogous  change  has  taken 
place  in  the  streets,  where  cabs  and  the  omnibus  have 
crowded  out  a rich  variety  of  vehicles  ; and  thus  life 
gets  more  monotonous  in  hue  from  age  to  age,  and 
appears  to  seize  every  opportunity  to  strip  off  a bit  of 
its  gold-lace  among  the  wealthier  classes,  and  to  make 
itself  decent  in  the  lower  ones. 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


301 


Yonder  is  Whitefriars,  the  old  rowdy  Alsatia,  now 
wearing  as  decorous  a face  as  any  other  portion  of 
London ; and,  adjoining  it,  the  avenues  and  brick 
squares  of  the  Temple,  with  that  historic  garden,  close 
upon  the  river-side,  and  still  rich  in  shrubbery  and 
flowers,  where  the  partisans  of  York  and  Lancaster 
plucked  the  fatal  roses,  and  scattered  their  pale  and 
bloody  petals  over  so  many  English  battle-fields. 
Hard  by,  we  see  the  long  white  front  or  rear  of  Som- 
erset House,  and,  farther  on,  rise  the  two  new  Houses 
of  Parliament,  with  a huge  unfinished  tower  already 
hiding  its  imperfect  summit  in  the  smoky  canopy,  — 
the  whole  vast  and  cumbrous  edifice  a specimen  of  the 
best  that  modern  architecture  can  effect,  elaborately 
imitating  the  masterpieces  of  those  simple  ages  when 
men  “ builded  better  than  they  knew.”  Close  by  it, 
we  have  a glimpse  of  the  roof  and  upper  towers  of  the 
holy  Abbey ; while  that  gray,  ancestral  pile  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river  is  Lambeth  Palace,  a venerable 
group  of  halls  and  turrets,  chiefly  built  of  brick,  but 
with  at  least  one  large  tower  of  stone.  In  our  course, 
we  have  passed  beneath  half  a dozen  bridges,  and, 
emerging  out  of  the  black  heart  of  London,  shall  soon 
reach  a cleanly  suburb,  where  old  Father  Thames,  if  I 
remember,  begins  to  put  on  an  aspect  of  unpolluted  in- 
nocence. And  now  we  look  back  upon  the  mass  of  in- 
numerable roofs,  out  of  which  rise  steeples,  towers, 
columns,  and  the  great  crowning  Dome,  — look  back, 
in  short,  upon  that  mystery  of  the  world’s  proudest 
city,  amid  which  a man  so  longs  and  loves  to  be ; not, 
perhaps,  because  it  contains  much  that  is  positively  ad- 
mirable and  enjoyable,  but  because,  at  all  events,  the 
world  has  nothing  better.  The  cream  of  external  life 
is  there ; and  whatever  merely  intellectual  or  material 


302 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


good  we  fail  to  find  perfect  in  London,  we  may  as  well 
content  ourselves  to  seek  that  unattainable  thing  no 
farther  on  this  earth. 

The  steamer  terminates  its  trip  at  Chelsea,  an  old 
town  endowed  with  a prodigious  number  of  pothouses, 
and  some  famous  gardens,  called  the  Cremorne,  for 
public  amusement.  The  most  noticeable  thing,  how- 
ever, is  Chelsea  Hospital,  which,  like  that  of  Green- 
wich, was  founded,  I believe,  by  Charles  IT.  (whose 
bronze  statue,  in  the  guise  of  an  old  Roman,  stands  in 
the  centre  of  the  quadrangle),  and  appropriated  as  a 
home  for  aged  and  infirm  soldiers  of  the  British  army. 
The  edifices  are  of  three  stories,  with  windows  in  the 
high  roofs,  and  are  built  of  dark,  sombre  brick,  with 
stone  edgings  and  facings.  The  effect  is  by  no  means 
that  of  grandeur  (which  is  somewhat  disagreeably  an 
attribute  of  Greenwich  Hospital),  but  a quiet  and 
venerable  neatness.  At  each  extremity  of  the  street- 
front  there  is  a spacious  and  hospitably  open  gateway, 
lounging  about  which  I saw  some  gray  veterans  in 
long  scarlet  coats  of  an  antique  fashion,  and  the  cocked 
hats  of  a century  ago,  or  occasionally  a modern  forag- 
ing-cap. Almost  all  of  them  moved  with  a rheumatic 
gait,  two  or  three  stumped  on  wooden  legs,  and  here 
and  there  an  arm  was  missing.  Inquiring  of  one  of 
these  fragmentary  heroes  whether  a stranger  could  be 
admitted  to  see  the  establishment,  he  replied  most  cor- 
dially, Oh  yes,  sir,  — anywhere  ! W alk  in  and  go 
where  you  please,  — up  stairs,  or  anywhere  ! ” So  I 
entered,  and,  passing  along  the  inner  side  of  the  quad- 
rangle, came  to  the  door  of  the  chapel,  which  forms  a 
part  of  the  contiguity  of  edifices  next  the  street.  Here 
another  pensioner,  an  old  warrior  of  exceedingly  peace- 
able and  Christian  demeanor,  touched  his  three-cor- 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


303 


nered  hat  and  asked  if  I wished  to  see  the  interior ; 
to  which  I assenting,  he  unlocked  the  door,  and  we 
went  in. 

The  chapel  consists  of  a great  hall  with  a vaulted 
roof,  and  over  the  altar  is  a large  painting  in  fresco, 
the  subject  of  which  I did  not  trouble  myself  to  make 
out.  More  appropriate  adornments  of  the  place,  dedi- 
cated as  well  to  martial  reminiscences  as  religious  wor- 
ship, are  the  long  ranges  of  dusty  and  tattered  ban- 
ners, that  hang  from  their  staves  all  round  the  celling 
of  the  chapel.  They  are  trophies  of  battles  fought  and 
won  in  every  quarter  of  the  world,  comprising  the  cap- 
tured flags  of  all  the  nations  with  whom  the  British 
lion  has  waged  war  since  James  II. ’s  time,  — French, 
Dutch,  East  Indian,  Prussian,  Russian,  Chinese,  and 
American,  — collected  together  in  this  consecrated 
spot,  not  to  symbolize  that  there  shall  be  no  more  dis- 
cord upon  earth,  but  drooping  over  the  aisle  in  sullen, 
though  peaceable  humiliation.  Yes,  I said  ^‘Ameri- 
can ” among  the  rest ; for  the  good  old  pensioner  mis- 
took me  for  an  Englishman,  and  failed  not  to  point 
out  (and,  methought,  with  an  especial  emphasis  of  tri- 
umph) some  flags  that  had  been  taken  at  Bladensburg 
and  Washington.  I fancied,  indeed,  that  they  hung 
a little  higher  and  drooped  a little  lower  than  any  of 
their  companions  in  disgrace.  It  is  a comfort,  how- 
ever, that  their  proud  devices  are  already  indistinguish- 
able, or  nearly  so,  owing  to  dust  and  tatters  and  the 
kind  offices  of  the  moths,  and  that  they  will  soon  rot 
from  the  banner-staves  and  be  swept  out  in  unrecog- 
nized fragments  from  the  chapel-door. 

It  is  a good  method  of  teaching  a man  how  imper- 
fectly cosmopolitan  he  is,  to  show  him  his  country’s 
flag  occupying  a position  of  dishonor  in  a foreign 


304 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


land.  But,  in  truth,  the  whole  system  of  a people 
crowing  over  its  military  triumphs  had  far  better  be 
dispensed  with,  both  on  account  of  the  ill-blood  that  it 
helps  to  keep  fermenting  among  the  nations,  and  be- 
cause it  operates  as  an  accumulative  inducement  to  fu- 
ture generations  to  aim  at  a kind  of  glory,  the  gain 
of  which  has  generally  proved  more  ruinous  than  its 
loss.  I heartily  wish  that  every  trophy  of  victory 
might  crumble  away,  and  that  every  reminiscence  or 
tradition  of  a hero,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world 
to  this  day,  could  pass  out  of  all  men’s  memories 
at  once  and  forever.  I might  feel  very  differently, 
to  be  sure,  if  we  Northerners  had  anything  especially 
valuable  to  lose  by  the  fading  of  those  illuminated 
names. 

I gave  the  pensioner  (but  I am  afraid  there  may 
have  been  a little  affectation  in  it)  a magnificent  guer- 
don of  all  the  silver  I had  in  my  pocket,  to  requite 
him  for  having  unintentionally  stirred  up  my  patriotic 
susceptibilities.  He  was  a meek-looking,  kindly  old 
man,  with  a humble  freedom  and  affability  of  manner 
that  made  it  pleasant  to  converse  with  him.  Old  sol- 
diers, I know  not  why,  seem  to  be  more  accostable 
than  old  sailors.  One  is  apt  to  hear  a growl  beneath 
the  smoothest  courtesy  of  the  latter.  The  mild  veteran, 
with  his  peaceful  voice,  and  gentle  reverend  aspect, 
told  me  that  he  had  fought  at  a cannon  all  through 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  and  escaped  unhurt;  he  had 
now  been  in  the  hospital  four  or  five  years,  and  was 
married,  but  necessarily  underwent  a separation  from 
his  wife,  who  lived  outside  of  the  gates.  To  my  in- 
quiry whether  his  fellow-pensioners  were  comfortable 
and  happy,  he  answered,  with  great  alacrity,  “ Oh  yes, 
sir ! ” qualifying  his  evidence,  after  a moment’s  com 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


305 


sideration,  by  saying  in  an  undertone,  ‘‘  There  are 
some  people,  your  Honor  knows,  who  could  not  be 
comfortable  anywhere.”  I did  know  it,  and  fear  that 
the  system  of  Chelsea  Hospital  allows  too  little  of  that 
wholesome  care  and  regulation  of  their  own  occupa- 
tions and  interests  which  might  assuage  the  sting  of 
life  to  those  naturally  uncomfortable  individuals  by 
giving  them  something  external  to  think  about.  But 
my  old  friend  here  was  happy  in  the  hospital,  and  by 
this  time,  very  likely,  is  happy  in  heaven,  in  spite  of 
the  bloodshed  that  he  may  have  caused  by  touching 
off  a cannon  at  Waterloo. 

Crossing  Battersea  Bridge,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Chelsea,  I remember  seeing  a distant  gleam  of  the 
Crystal  Palace,  glimmering  afar  in  the  afternoon  sun- 
shine like  an  imaginary  structure,  — an  air-castle  by 
chance  descended  upon  earth,  and  resting  there  one 
instant  before  it  vanished,  as  we  sometimes  see  a soap- 
bubble  touch  unharmed  on  the  carpet,  — a thing  of 
only  momentary  visibility  and  no  substance,  destined 
to  be  overburdened  and  crushed  down  by  the  first 
cloud-shadow  that  might  fall  upon  that  spot.  Even 
as  I looked,  it  disappeared.  Shall  I attempt  a picture 
of  this  exhalation  of  modern  ingenuity,  or  what  else 
shall  I try  to  paint?  Everything  in  London  and 
its  vicinity  has  been  depicted  innumerable  times,  but 
never  once  translated  into  intelligible  images ; it  is 
an  ^‘old,  old  story,”  never  yet  told,  nor  to  be  told. 
While  writing  these  reminiscences,  I am  continually 
impressed  with  the  futility  of  the  effort  to  give  any 
creative  truth  to  my  sketch,  so  that  it  might  produce 
such  pictures  in  the  reader’s  mind  as  would  cause  the 
original  scenes  to  appear  familiar  when  afterwards  be- 
held. Nor  have  other  writers  often  been  more  sue- 
20 


VOL.  VII. 


300 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


cessful  in  representing  definite  objects  prophetically 
to  my  own  mind.  In  truth,  I believe  that  the  chief 
delight  and  advantage  of  this  kind  of  literature  is  not 
for  any  real  information  that  it  supplies  to  untravelled 
people,  but  for  reviving  the  recollections  and  reawak- 
ening the  emotions  of  persons  already  acquainted 
with  the  scenes  described.  Thus  I found  an  exquisite 
pleasure,  the  other  day,  in  reading  Mr.  Tuckerman’s 
Month  in  England,”  — a fine  example  of  the  way  in 
which  a refined  and  cultivated  American  looks  at  the 
Old  Country,  the  things  that  he  naturally  seeks  there, 
and  the  modes  of  feeling  and  reflection  which  they 
excite.  Correct  outlines  avail  little  or  nothing,  though 
truth  of  coloring  may  be  somewhat  more  efficacious. 
Impressions,  however,  states  of  mind  produced  by  in- 
teresting and  remarkable  objects,  these,  if  truthfully 
and  vividly  recorded,  may  work  a genuine  effect,  and, 
though  but  the  result  of  what  we  see,  go  further  to- 
wards representing  the  actual  scene  than  any  direct 
effort  to  paint  it.  Give  the  emotions  that  cluster 
about  it,  and,  without  being  able  to  analyze  the  spell 
by  which  it  is  summoned  up,  you  get  something  like  a 
simulachre  of  the  object  in  the  midst  of  them.  From 
some  of  the  above  reflections  I draw  the  comfortable 
inference,  that,  the  longer  and  better  known  a thing 
may  be,  so  much  the  more  eligible  is  it  as  the  subject 
of  a descriptive  sketch. 

On  a Sunday  afternoon,  I passed  through  a side- 
entrance  in  the  time  - blackened  wall  of  a place  of 
worship,  and  found  myself  among  a congregation  as- 
sembled in  one  of  the  transepts  and  the  immediately 
contiguous  portion  of  the  nave.  It  was  a vast  old 
edifice,  spacious  enough,  within  the  extent  covered  by 
its  pillared  roof  and  overspread  by  its  stone  pavement. 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


807 


to  accommodate  the  whole  of  church-going  London, 
and  with  a far  wider  and  loftier  concave  than  any  hu- 
man power  of  lungs  could  fill  with  audible  prayer. 
Oaken  benches  were  arranged  in  the  transept,  on  one 
of  which  I seated  myself,  and  joined,  as  well  as  I 
knew  how,  in  the  sacred  business  that  was  going  for- 
ward. But  when  it  came  to  the  sermon,  the  voice  of 
the  preacher  was  puny,  and  so  were  his  thoughts,  and 
both  seemed  impertinent  at  such  a time  and  place, 
where  he  and  all  of  us  were  bodily  included  within  a 
sublime  act  of  religion,  which  could  be  seen  above  and 
around  us  and  felt  beneath  our  feet.  The  structure 
itself  was  the  worship  of  the  devout  men  of  long  ago, 
miraculously  preserved  in  stone  without  losing  an  atom 
of  its  fragrance  and  fervor ; it  was  a kind  of  anthem- 
strain  that  they  had  sung  and  poured  out  of  the  organ 
in  centuries  gone  by ; and  being  so  grand  and  sweet, 
the  Divine  benevolence  had  willed  it  to  be  prolonged 
for  the  behoof  of  auditors  unborn.  I therefore  came 
to  the  conclusion,  that,  in  my  individual  case,  it  would 
be  better  and  more  reverent  to  let  my  eyes  wander 
about  the  edifice  than  to  fasten  them  and  my  thoughts 
on  the  evidently  uninspired  mortal  who  was  venturing 
— and  felt  it  no  venture  at  all  — to  speak  here  above 
his  breath. 

The  interior  of  Westminster  Abbey  (for  the  reader 
recognized  it,  no  doubt,  the  moment  we  entered)  is 
built  of  rich  brown  stone  ; and  the  whole  of  it  — the 
lofty  roof,  the  tall,  clustered  pillars,  and  the  pointed 
arches  — appears  to  be  in  consummate  repair.  At  all 
points  where  decay  has  laid  its  finger,  the  structure  is 
clamped  with  iron  or  otherwise  carefully  protected ; 
and  being  thus  watched  over,  — whether  as  a place  of 
ancient  sanctity,  a noble  specimen  of  Gothic  art,  or  an 


308 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


object  of  national  interest  and  pride,  — it  may  reason- 
ably be  expected  to  survive  for  as  many  ages  as  have 
passed  over  it  already.  It  was  sweet  to  feel  its  ven- 
erable quietude,  its  long-enduring  peace,  and  yet  to 
observe  how  kindly  and  even  cheerfully  it  received  the 
sunshine  of  to-day,  which  fell  from  the  great  windows 
into  the  fretted  aisles  and  arches  that  laid  aside  some- 
what of  their  aged  gloom  to  welcome  it.  Sunshine 
always  seems  friendly  to  old  abbeys,  churches,  and 
castles,  kissing  them,  as  it  were,  with  a more  affec- 
tionate, though  still  reverential  familiarity,  than  it  ac- 
cords to  edifices  of  later  date.  A square  of  golden 
light  lay  on  the  sombre  pavement  of  the  nave,  afar 
off,  falling  through  the  grand  western  entrance,  the 
folding  leaves  of  which  were  wide  open,  and  afforded 
glimpses  of  people  passing  to  and  fro  in  the  outer 
world,  while  we  sat  dimly  enveloped  in  the  solemnity 
of  antique  devotion.  In  the  south  transept,  separated 
from  us  by  the  full  breadth  of  the  minster,  there  were 
painted  glass  windows,  of  which  the  uppermost  ap- 
peared to  be  a great  orb  of  many-colored  radiance, 
being,  indeed,  a cluster  of  saints  and  angels  whose 
glorified  bodies  formed  the  rays  of  an  aureole  ema- 
nating from  a cross  in  the  midst.  These  windows 
are  modern,  but  combine  softness  with  wonderful  brill- 
iancy of  effect.  Through  the  pillars  and  arches,  I saw 
that  the  walls  in  that  distant  region  of  the  edifice  were 
almost  wholly  incrusted  with  marble,  now  grown  yel- 
low with  time,  no  blank,  unlettered  slabs,  but  memori- 
als of  such  men  as  their  respective  generations  deemed 
wisest  and  bravest.  Some  of  them  were  commemo- 
rated merely  by  inscriptions  on  mural  tablets,  others 
by  sculptured  bas-reliefs,  others  (once  famous,  but 
now  forgotten,  generals  or  admirals,  these)  by  ponder- 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


309 


ous  tombs  that  aspired  towards  the  roof  of  the  aisle, 
or  partly  curtained  the  immense  arch  of  a window. 
These  mountains  of  marble  were  peopled  with  the  sis- 
terhood of  Allegory,  winged  trumpeters,  and  classic 
figures  in  full-bottomed  wigs  ; but  it  was  strange  to 
observe  how  the  old  Abbey  melted  all  such  absurdities 
into  the  breadth  of  its  own  grandeur,  even  magnifying 
itself  by  what  would  elsewhere  have  been  ridiculous. 
Methinks  it  is  the  test  of  Gothic  sublimity  to  over- 
power the  ridiculous  without  deigning  to  hide  it ; and 
these  grotesque  monuments  of  the  last  century  answer 
a similar  purpose  with  the  grinning  faces  which  the 
old  architects  scattered  among  their  most  solemn  con- 
ceptions. 

From  these  distant  wanderings  (it  was  my  first 
visit  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  I would  gladly  have 
taken  it  all  in  at  a glance)  my  eyes  came  back  and 
began  to  investigate  what  was  immediately  about  me 
in  the  transept.  Close  at  my  elbow  was  the  pedestal 
of  Canning’s  statue.  Next  beyond  it  was  a massive 
tomb,  on  the  spacious  tablet  of  which  reposed  the  full- 
length  figures  of  a marble  lord  and  lady,  whom  an 
inscription  announced  to  be  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Newcastle,  — the  historic  Duke  of  Charles  I.’s  time, 
and  the  fantastic  Duchess,  traditionally  remembered 
by  her  poems  and  plays.  She  was  of  a family,  as  the 
record  on  her  tomb  proudly  informed  us,  of  which  all 
the  brothers  had  been  valiant  and  all  the  sisters  vir- 
tuous. A recent  statue  of  Sir  John  Malcolm,  the  new 
marble  as  white  as  snow,  held  the  next  place  ; and 
near  by  was  a mural  monument  and  bust  of  Sir  Peter 
Warren.  The  round  visage  of  this  old  British  admiral 
has  a certain  interest  for  a New-Englander,  because  it 
was  by  no  merit  of  his  own  (though  he  took  care  to 


310 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


assume  it  as  such),  but  by  the  valor  and  warlike  enter- 
prise of  our  colonial  forefathers,  especially  the  stout 
men  of  Massachusetts,  that  he  won  rank  and  renown, 
and  a tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Lord  Mansfield, 
a huge  mass  of  marble  done  into  the  guise  of  a judi- 
cial gown  and  wig,  with  a stern  face  in  the  midst  of 
the  latter,  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  transept ; and 
on  the  pedestal  beside  him  was  a figure  of  Justice, 
holding  forth,  instead  of  the  customary  grocer’s  scales, 
an  actual  pair  of  brass  steelyards.  It  is  an  ancient 
and  classic  instrument,  undoubtedly ; but  I had  sup- 
posed that  Portia  (when  Shylock’s  pound  of  flesh  was 
to  be  weighed)  was  the  only  judge  that  ever  really 
called  for  it  in  a court  of  justice.  Pitt  and  Fox  were 
in  the  same  distinguished  company  ; and  John  Kem- 
ble, in  Roman  costume,  stood  not  far  off,  but  strangely 
shorn  of  the  dignity  that  is  said  to  have  enveloped  him 
like  a mantle  in  his  lifetime.  Perhaps  the  evanescent 
majesty  of  the  stage  is  incompatible  with  the  long  en- 
durance of  marble  and  the  solemn  reality  of  the  tomb ; 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  almost  every  illustrious 
personage  here  represented  has  been  invested  with 
more  or  less  of  stage-trickery  by  his  sculptor.  In 
truth,  the  artist  (unless  there  be  a divine  efficacy  in 
his  touch,  making  evident  a heretofore  hidden  dignity 
in  the  actual  form)  feels  it  an  imperious  law  to  remove 
his  subject  as  far  from  the  aspect  of  ordinary  life  as 
may  be  possible  without  sacrificing  every  trace  of  re- 
semblance. The  absurd  effect  of  the  contrary  course 
is  very  remarkable  in  the  statue  of  Mr.  Wilberforce, 
whose  actual  self,  save  for  the  lack  of  color,  I seemed 
to  behold,  seated  just  across  the  aisle. 

This  excellent  man  appears  to  have  sunk  into  him- 
self in  a sitting  posture,  with  a thin  leg  crossed  over 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


311 


his  knee,  a book  in  one  hand,  and  a finger  of  the  other 
under  his  chin,  I believe,  or  applied  to  the  side  of  his 
nose,  or  to  some  equally  familiar  purpose  ; while  his 
exceedingly  homely  and  wrinkled  face,  held  a little  on 
one  side,  twinkles  at  you  with  the  shrewdest  compla- 
cency, as  if  he  were  looking  right  into  your  eyes,  and 
twigged  something  there  which  you  had  half  a mind 
to  conceal  from  him.  He  keeps  this  look  so  pertina- 
ciously that  you  feel  it  to  be  insufferably  impertinent, 
and  bethink  yourself  what  common  ground  there  may 
be  between  yourself  and  a stone  image,  enabling  you 
to  resent  it.  I have  no  doubt  that  the  statue  is  as  like 
Mr.  Wilberforce  as  one  pea  to  another,  and  you  might 
fancy,  that,  at  some  ordinary  moment,  when  he  least 
expected  it,  and  before  he  had  time  to  smooth  away 
his  knowing  complication  of  wrinkles,  he  had  seen  the 
Gorgon’s  head,  and  whitened  into  marble,  — not  only 
his  personal  self,  but  his  coat  and  small-clothes,  down 
to  a button  and  the  minutest  crease  of  the  cloth.  Tho 
ludicrous  result  marks  the  impropriety  of  bestowing 
the  age-long  duration  of  marble  upon  small,  charac- 
teristic individualities,  such  as  might  come  within  the 
province  of  waxen  imagery.  The  sculptor  should 
give  permanence  to  the  figure  of  a great  man  in  his 
mood  of  broad  and  grand  composure,  which  would  ob- 
literate all  mean  peculiarities ; for,  if  the  original  were 
unaccustomed  to  such  a mood,  or  if  his  features  were 
incapable  of  assuming  the  guise,  it  seems  questionable 
whether  he  could  really  have  been  entitled  to  a marble 
immortality.  In  point  of  fact,  however,  the  English 
face  and  form  are  seldom  statuesque,  however  illustri- 
ous the  individual. 

It  ill  becomes  me,  perhaps,  to  have  lapsed  into  this 
mood  of  half -jocose  criticism  in  describing  my  first 


312 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


visit  to  Westminster  Abbey,  a spot  which  I had 
dreamed  about  more  reverentially,  from  my  child- 
hood upward,  than  any  other  in  the  world,  and  which 
I then  beheld,  and  now  look  back  upon,  with  profound 
gratitude  to  the  men  who  built  it,  and  a kindly  in- 
terest, I may  add,  in  the  humblest  personage  that  has 
contributed  his  little  all  to  its  impressiveness,  by  de- 
positing his  dust  or  his  memory  there.  But  it  is  a 
characteristic  of  this  grand  edifice  that  it  permits  you 
to  smile  as  freely  under  the  roof  of  its  central  nave  as 
if  you  stood  beneath  the  yet  grander  canopy  of  heaven. 
Break  into  laughter,  if  you  feel  inclined,  provided  the 
vergers  do  not  hear  it  echoing  among  the  arches.  In  an 
ordinary  church  you  would  keep  your  countenance  for 
fear  of  disturbing  the  sanctities  or  proprieties  of  the 
place  ; but  you  need  leave  no  honest  and  decorous  por- 
tion of  your  human  nature  outside  of  these  benign  and 
truly  hospitable  walls.  Their  mild  awfulness  will  take 
care  of  itself.  Thus  it  does  no  harm  to  the  general  im- 
pression, when  you  come  to  be  sensible  that  many  of 
the  monuments  are  ridiculous,  and  commemorate  a 
mob  of  people  who  are  mostly  forgotten  in  their  graves, 
and  few  of  whom  ever  deserved  any  better  boon  from 
posterity.  You  acknowledge  the  force  of  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller’s  objection  to  being  buried  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  because  they  do  bury  fools  there  ! ” Never- 
theless, these  grotesque  carvings  of  marble,  that  break 
out  in  dingy-white  blotches  on  the  old  freestone  of  the 
interior  walls,  have  come  there  by  as  natural  a process 
as  might  cause  mosses  and  i\^  to  cluster  about  the 
external  edifice ; for  they  are  the  historical  and  bio- 
graphical record  of  each  successive  age,  written  with 
its  own  hand,  and  all  the  truer  for  the  inevitable  mis- 
takes, and  none  the  less  solemn  for  the  occasional 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


313 


absurdity.  Though  you  entered  the  Abbey  expecting 
to  see  the  tombs  only  of  the  illustrious,  you  are  con- 
tent at  last  to  read  many  names,  both  in  literature 
and  history,  that  have  now  lost  the  reverence  of  man- 
kind, if  indeed  they  ever  really  possessed  it.  Let  these 
men  rest  in  peace.  Even  if  you  miss  a name  or  two 
that  you  hoped  to  find  there,  they  may  well  be  spared. 
It  matters  little  a few  more  or  less,  or  whether  West- 
minster Abbey  contains  or  lacks  any  one  man’s  grave, 
so  long  as  the  Centuries,  each  with  the  crowd  of  per- 
sonages that  it  deemed  memorable,  have  chosen  it  as 
their  place  of  honored  sepulture,  and  laid  themselves 
down  under  its  pavement.  The  inscriptions  and  de- 
vices on  the  walls  are  rich  with  evidences  of  the  fluc- 
tuating tastes,  fashions,  manners,  opinions,  prejudices, 
follies,  wisdoms  of  the  past,  and  thus  they  combine 
into  a more  truthful  memorial  of  their  dead  times 
than  any  individual  epitaph  - maker  ever  meant  to 
write. 

When  the  services  were  over,  many  of  the  audience 
seemed  inclined  to  linger  in  the  nave  or  wander  away 
among  the  mysterious  aisles ; for  there  is  nothing  in 
this  world  so  fascinating  as  a Gothic  minster,  which 
always  invites  you  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  heart 
both  by  vast  revelations  and  shadowy  concealments. 
Through  the  open-work  screen  that  divides  the  nave 
from  the  chancel  and  choir,  we  could  discern  the  gleam 
of  a marvellous  window,  but  were  debarred  from  en- 
trance into  that  more  sacred  precinct  of  the  Abbey  by 
the  vergers.  These  vigilant  officials  (doing  their  duty 
all  the  more  strenuously  because  no  fees  could  be  ex- 
acted from  Sunday  visitors)  flourished  their  staves, 
and  drove  us  towards  the  grand  entrance  like  a flock 
of  sheep.  Lingering  through  one  of  the  aisles,  I hap- 


314 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


pened  to  look  down,  and  found  my  foot  upon  a stone 
inscribed  with  this  familiar  exclamation,  O rare  Ben 
Jonson ! ” and  remembered  the  story  of  stout  old 
Ben’s  burial  in  that  spot,  standing  upright,  — not,  I 
presume,  on  account  of  any  unseemly  reluctance  on 
his  part  to  lie  down  in  the  dust,  like  other  men,  but 
because  standing-room  was  all  that  could  reasonably 
be  demanded  for  a poet  among  the  slumberous  nota- 
bilities of  his  age.  It  made  me  weary  to  think  of  it  I 

— such  a prodigious  length  of  time  to  keep  one’s  feet ! 

— apart  from  the  honor  of  the  thing,  it  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  better  for  Ben  to  stretch  himself  at 
ease  in  some  country  churchyard.  To  this  day,  how- 
ever, I fancy  that  there  is  a contemptuous  alloy  mixed 
up  with  the  admiration  which  the  higher  classes  of 
English  society  profess  for  their  literary  men. 

Another  day — in  truth,  many  other  days  — I sought 
out  Poets’  Corner,  and  found  a sign-board  and  pointed 
finger  directing  the  visitor  to  it,  on  the  corner  house  of 
a little  lane  leading  towards  the  rear  of  the  Abbey. 
The  entrance  is  at  the  southeastern  end  of  the  south 
transept,  and  it  is  used,  on  ordinary  occasions,  as  the 
only  free  mode  of  access  to  the  building.  It  is  no 
spacious  arch,  but  a small,  lowly  door,  passing  through 
which,  and  pushing  aside  an  inner  screen  that  partly 
keeps  out  an  exceedingly  chill  wind,  you  find  yourself 
in  a dim  nook  of  the  Abbey,  with  the  busts  of  poets 
gazing  at  you  from  the  otherwise  bare  stone-work  of 
the  walls.  Great  poets,  too ; for  Ben  Jonson  is  right 
behind  the  door,  and  Spenser’s  tablet  is  next,  and 
Butler’s  on  the  same  side  of  the  transept,  and  Milton’s 
(whose  bust  you  know  at  once  by  its  resemblance  to 
one  of  his  portraits,  though  older,  more  wrinkled,  and 
sadder  than  that)  is  close  by,  and  a profile-medallion 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


315 


of  Gray  beneath  it.  A window  high  aloft  sheds  down 
a dusky  daylight  on  these  and  many  other  sculptured 
marbles,  now  as  yellow  as  old  parchment,  that  cover 
the  three  walls  of  the  nook  up  to  an  elevation  of  about 
twenty  feet  above  the  pavement.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I had  always  been  familiar  with  the  spot.  En- 
joying a humble  intimacy  — and  how  much  of  my  life 
had  else  been  a dreary  solitude  ! — with  many  of  its 
inhabitants,  I could  not  feel  myself  a stranger  there. 
It  was  delightful  to  be  among  them.  There  was  a 
genial  awe,  mingled  with  a sense  of  kind  and  friendty 
presences  about  me  ; and  I was  glad,  moreover,  at 
finding  so  many  of  them  there  together,  in  fit  compan- 
ionship, mutually  recognized  and  duly  honored,  all 
reconciled  now,  whatever  distant  generations,  whatever 
personal  hostility  or  other  miserable  impediment,  had 
divided  them  far  asunder  while  they  lived.  I have 
never  felt  a similar  interest  in  any  other  tombstones, 
nor  have  I ever  been  deeply  moved  by  the  imaginary 
presence  of  other  famous  dead  people.  A poet’s  ghost 
is  the  only  one  that  survives  for  his  fellow-mortals, 
after  his  bones  are  in  the  dust,  — and  he  not  ghostly, 
but  cherishing  many  hearts  with  his  own  warmth  in 
the  chillest  atmosphere  of  life.  What  other  fame  is 
worth  aspiring  for  ? Or,  let  me  speak  it  more  boldly, 
what  other  long-enduring  fame  can  exist?  We  neither 
remember  nor  care  anything  for  the  past,  except  as 
the  poet  has  made  it  intelligibly  noble  and  sublime  to 
our  comprehension.  The  shades  of  the  mighty  have 
no  substance ; they  flit  ineffectually  about  the  dark- 
ened stage  where  they  performed  their  momentary 
parts,  save  when  the  poet  has  thrown  his  own  creative 
soul  into  them,  and  imparted  a more  vivid  life  than 
ever  they  were  able  to  manifest  to  mankind  while  they 


316 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


dwelt  in  the  body.  And  therefore  — though  he  cun- 
ningly disguises  himself  in  their  armor,  their  robes  of 
state,  or  kingly  purple  — it  is  not  the  statesman,  the 
warrior,  or  the  monarch  that  survives,  but  the  despised 
poet,  whom  they  may  have  fed  with  their  crumbs,  and 
to  whom  they  owe  all  that  they  now  are  or  have,  — a 
name ! 

In  the  foregoing  paragraph  I seem  to  have  been  be- 
trayed into  a flight  above  or  beyond  the  customary 
level  that  best  agrees  with  me ; but  it  represents  fairly 
enough  the  emotions  with  which  I passed  from  Poets' 
Corner  into  the  chapels,  which  contain  the  sepulchres 
of  kings  and  great  people.  They  are  magnificent  even 
now,  and  must  have  been  inconceivably  so  when  the 
marble  slabs  and  pillars  wore  their  new  polish,  and 
the  statues  retained  the  brilliant  colors  with  which 
they  were  originally  painted,  and  the  shrines  their  rich 
gilding,  of  which  the  sunlight  still  shows  a glimmer 
or  a streak,  though  the  sunbeam  itself  looks  tarnished 
with  antique  dust.  Yet  this  recondite  portion  of  the 
Abbey  presents  few  memorials  of  personages  whom 
we  care  to  remember.  The  shrine  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor has  a certain  interest,  because  it  was  so  long 
held  in  religious  reverence,  and  because  the  very  dust 
that  settled  upon  it  was  formerly  worth  gold.  The 
helmet  and  war-saddle  of  Henry  V.,  worn  at  Agin- 
court,  and  now  suspended  above  his  tomb,  are  memo- 
rable objects,  but  more  for  Shakespeare’s  sake  than 
the  victor’s  own.  Rank  has  been  the  general  passport 
to  admission  here.  Noble  and  regal  dust  is  as  cheap 
as  dirt  under  the  pavement.  I am  glad  to  recollect, 
indeed  (and  it  is  too  characteristic  of  the  right  Eng- 
lish spirit  not  to  be  mentioned),  one  or  two  gigantic 
statues  of  great  mechanicians,  who  contributed  largely 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


317 


to  the  material  welfare  of  England,  sitting  familiarly 
in  their  marble  chairs  among  forgotten  kings  and 
queens.  Otherwise,  the  quaintness  of  the  earlier  mon- 
uments, and  the  antique  beauty  of  some  of  them,  are 
what  chiefly  gives  them  value.  Nevertheless,  Addison 
is  buried  among  the  men  of  rank  ; not  on  the  plea  of 
his  literary  fame,  however,  but  because  he  was  con- 
nected with  nobility  by  marriage,  and  had  been  a Sec- 
retary of  State.  His  gravestone  is  inscribed  with  a 
resounding  verse  from  Tickell’s  lines  to  his  memory, 
the  only  lines  by  which  Tickell  himself  is  now  remem- 
bered, and  which  (as  I discovered  a little  while  ago) 
he  mainly  filched  from  an  obscure  versifier  of  some- 
what earlier  date. 

Returning  to  Poets’  Corner,  I looked  again  at  the 
walls,  and  wondered  how  the  requisite  hospitality  can 
be  shown  to  poets  of  our  own  and  the  succeeding  ages. 
There  is  hardly  a foot  of  space  left,  although  room 
has  lately  been  found  for  a bust  of  Southey  and  a full- 
length  statue  of  Campbell.  At  best,  only  a little  por- 
tion of  the  Abbey  is  dedicated  to  poets,  literary  men, 
musical  composers,  and  others  of  the  gentle  artist 
breed,  and  even  into  that  small  nook  of  sanctity  men 
of  other  pursuits  have  thought  it  decent  to  intrude 
themselves.  Methinks  the  tuneful  throng,  being  at 
home  here,  should  recollect  how  they  were  treated  in 
their  lifetime,  and  turn  the  cold  shoulder,  looking 
askance  at  nobles  and  official  personages,  however 
worthy  of  honorable  interment  elsewhere.  Yet  it  shows 
aptly  and  truly  enough  what  portion  of  the  world’s  re- 
gard and  honor  has  heretofore  been  awarded  to  literary 
eminence  in  comparison  with  other  modes  of  greatness, 
— this  dimly  lighted  corner  (nor  even  that  quietly  to 
themselves)  in  the  vast  minster,  the  walls  of  which 


318 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


are  sheathed  and  hidden  under  marble  that  has  been 
wasted  upon  the  illustrious  obscure.  Nevertheless,  it 
may  not  be  worth  while  to  quarrel  with  the  world  on 
this  account ; for,  to  confess  the  very  truth,  their  own 
little  nook  contains  more  than  one  poet  whose  memory 
is  kept  alive  by  his  monument,  instead  of  imbuing  the 
senseless  stone  with  a spiritual  immortality,  — men  of 
whom  you  do  not  ask,  Where  is  he  ? ” but,  ‘‘  Why  is 
he  here  ? ” I estimate  that  all  the  literary  people  who 
really  make  an  essential  part  of  one’s  inner  life,  in- 
cluding the  period  since  English  literature  first  ex- 
isted, might  have  ample  elbow-room  to  sit  down  and 
quaff  their  draughts  of  Castaly  round  Chaucer’s 
broad,  horizontal  tombstone.  These  divinest  poets 
consecrate  the  spot,  and  throw  a reflected  glory  over 
the  humblest  of  their  companions.  And  as  for  the 
latter,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  may  have  long  out- 
grown the  characteristic  jealousies  and  morbid  sensi- 
bilities of  their  craft,  and  have  found  out  the  little 
value  (probably  not  amounting  to  sixpence  in  immor- 
tal currency)  of  the  posthumous  renown  which  they 
once  aspired  to  win.  It  would  be  a poor  compliment 
to  a dead  poet  to  fancy  him  leaning  out  of  the  sky  and 
snuffing  up  the  impure  breath  of  earthly  praise. 

Yet  we  cannot  easily  rid  ourselves  of  the  notion 
that  those  who  have  bequeathed  us  the  inheritance  of 
an  undying  song  would  fain  be  conscious  of  its  endless 
reverberations  in  the  hearts  of  mankind,  and  would 
delight,  among  sublimer  enjoyments,  to  see  tlieii* 
names  emblazoned  in  such  a treasure-place  of  great 
memories  as  Westminster  Abbey.  There  are  some 
men,  at  all  events,  — true  and  tender  poets,  moreover, 
and  fully  deserving  of  the  honor,  — whose  spirits,  I 
feel  certain,  would  linger  a little  while  about  Poets’ 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


319 


Corner,  for  the  sake  of  witnessing  their  own  apotheo- 
sis among  their  kindred.  They  have  had  a strong 
natural  yearning,  not  so  much  for  applause  as  sympa- 
thy, which  the  cold  fortune  of  their  lifetime  did  but 
scantily  supply ; so  that  this  unsatisfied  appetite  may 
make  itself  felt  upon  sensibilities  at  once  so  delicate 
and  retentive,  even  a step  or  two  beyond  the  grave. 
Leigh  Hunt,  for  example,  would  be  pleased,  even  now, 
if  he  could  learn  that  his  bust  had  been  reposited  in 
the  midst  of  the  old  poets  whom  he  admired  and 
loved ; though  there  is  hardly  a man  among  the  au- 
thors of  to-day  and  yesterday  whom  the  judgment  of 
Englishmen  would  be  less  likely  to  place  there.  He 
deserves  it,  however,  if  not  for  his  verse  (the  value  of 
which  I do  not  estimate,  never  having  been  able  to 
read  it),  yet  for  his  delightful  prose,  his  unmeasured 
poetry,  the  inscrutable  happiness  of  his  touch,  working 
soft  miracles  by  a life-process  like  the  growth  of  grass 
and  flowers.  As  with  all  such  gentle  writers,  his  page 
sometimes  betrayed  a vestige  of  affectation,  but,  the 
next  moment,  a rich,  natural  luxuriance  overgrew  and 
buried  it  out  of  sight.  I knew  him  a little,  and  (since. 
Heaven  be  praised,  few  English  celebrities  whom  I 
chanced  to  meet  have  enfranchised  my  pen  by  their 
decease,  and  as  I assume  no  liberties  with  living  men) 
I will  conclude  this  rambling  article  by  sketching  my 
first  interview  with  Leigh  Hunt. 

He  was  then  at  Hammersmith,  occupying  a very 
plain  and  shabby  little  house,  in  a contiguous  range  of 
others  like  it,  with  no  prospect  but  that  of  an  ugly  vil- 
lage street,  and  certainly  nothing  to  gratify  his  crav- 
ing for  a tasteful  environment,  inside  or  out.  A slat- 
ternly maid-servant  opened  the  door  for  us,  and  he 
himself  stood  in  the  entry,  a beautiful  and  venerable 


320 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


old  man,  buttoned  to  the  chin  in  a black  dress-coat, 
tall  and  slender,  with  a countenance  quietly  alive  all 
over,  and  the  gentlest  and  most  naturally  courteous 
manner.  He  ushered  us  into  his  little  study,  or  par- 
lor, or  both,  — a very  forlorn  room,  with  poor  paper- 
hangings  and  carpet,  few  books,  no  pictures  that  I re- 
member, and  an  awful  lack  of  upholstery.  I touch 
distinctly  upon  these  external  blemishes  and  this 
nudity  of  adornment,  not  that  they  would  be  worth 
mentioning  in  a sketch  of  other  remarkable  persons, 
but  because  Leigh  Hunt  was  born  with  such  a faculty 
of  enjoying  all  beautiful  things  that  it  seemed  as  if 
Fortune  did  him  as  much  wrong  in  not  supplying 
them  as  in  withholding  a sufficiency  of  vital  breath 
from  ordinary  men.  All  kinds  of  mild  magnificence, 
tempered  by  his  taste,  would  have  become  him  well ; 
but  he  had  not  the  grim  dignity  that  assumes  naked- 
ness as  the  better  robe. 

I have  said  that  he  was  a beautiful  old  man.  In 
truth,  I never  saw  a finer  countenance,  either  as  to 
the  mould  of  features  or  the  expression,  nor  any  that 
showed  the  play  of  feeling  so  perfectly  without  the 
slightest  theatrical  emphasis.  It  was  like  a child’s 
face  in  this  respect.  At  my  first  glimpse  of  him, 
when  he  met  us  in  the  entry,  I discerned  that  he  was 
old,  his  long  hair  being  white  and  his  wrinkles  many; 
it  was  an  aged  visage,  in  short,  such  as  I had  not  at 
all  expected  to  see,  in  spite  of  dates,  because  his  books 
talk  to  the  reader  with  the  tender  vivacity  of  youth. 
But  when  he  began  to  speak,  and  as  he  grew  more  ear- 
nest in  conversation,  I ceased  to  be  sensible  of  his 
age ; sometimes,  indeed,  its  dusky  shadow  darkened 
through  the  gleam  which  his  sprightl}^  thoughts  dif- 
fused about  his  face,  but  then  another  flash  of  youth 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


321 


came  out  of  his  eyes  and  made  an  illumination  again. 
I never  witnessed  such  a wonderfully  illusive  trans- 
formation, before  or  since  ; and,  to  this  day,  trusting 
only  to  my  recollection,  I should  find  it  difficult  to  de- 
cide which  was  his  genuine  and  stable  predicament,  — 
youth  or  age.  I have  met  no  Englishman  whose  man- 
ners seemed  to  me  so  agreeable,  soft,  rather  than  pol- 
ished, wholly  unconventional,  the  natural  growth  of  a 
kindly  and  sensitive  disposition  without  any  reference 
to  rule,  or  else  obedient  to  some  rule  so  subtile  that 
the  nicest  observer  could  not  detect  the  application 
of  it. 

His  eyes  were  dark  and  very  fine,  and  his  delight- 
ful voice  accompanied  their  visible  language  like  mu- 
sic. He  appeared  to  be  exceedingly  appreciative  of 
whatever  was  passing  among  those  who  surrounded 
him,  and  especially  of  the  vicissitudes  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  person  to  whom  he  happened  to  be  address- 
ing himself  at  the  moment.  I felt  that  no  effect  upon 
my  mind  of  what  he  uttered,  no  emotion,  however 
transitory,  in  myself,  escaped  his  notice,  though  not 
from  any  positive  vigilance  on  his  part,  but  because 
his  faculty  of  observ^ation  was  so  penetrative  and  deli- 
cate ; and  to  say  the  truth,  it  a little  confused  me  to 
discern  always  a ripple  on  his  mobile  face,  responsive 
to  any  slightest  breeze  that  passed  over  the  inner  re- 
servoir of  my  sentiments,  and  seemed  thence  to  extend 
to  a similar  reservoir  within  himself.  On  matters  of 
feeling,  and  within  a certain  depth,  you  might  spare 
yourself  the  trouble  of  utterance,  because  he  already 
knew  what  you  wanted  to  say,  and  perhaps  a little 
more  than  you  would  have  spoken.  His  figure  was 
full  of  gentle  movement,  though,  somehow,  without 
disturbing  its  quietude ; and  as  he  talked,  he  kept 

VOL.  VII.  21 


322 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


folding  his  hands  nervously,  and  betokened  in  many 
ways  a fine  and  immediate  sensibility,  quick  to  feel 
pleasure  or  pain,  though  scarcely  capable,  I should  im- 
agine, of  a passionate  experience  in  either  direction. 
There  was  not  an  English  trait  in  him  from  head  to 
foot,  morally,  intellectually,  or  physically.  Beef,  ale, 
or  stout,  brandy  or  port-wine,  entered  not  at  all  into 
his  composition.  In  his  earlier  life,  he  appears  to 
have  given  evidences  of  courage  and  sturdy  principle, 
and  of  a tendency  to  fling  himself  into  the  rough 
struggle  of  humanity  on  the  liberal  side.  It  would  be 
taking  too  much  upon  myself  to  affirm  that  this  was 
merely  a projection  of  his  fancy  world  into  the  actual, 
and  that  he  never  could  have  hit  a downright  blow, 
and  was  altogether  an  unsuitable  person  to  receive 
one.  I beheld  him  not  in  his  armor,  but  in  his  peace- 
fulest robes.  Nevertheless,  drawing  my  conclusion 
merely  from  what  I saw,  it  would  have  occurred  to  me 
that  his  main  deficiency  was  a lack  of  grit.  Though 
anything  but  a timid  man,  the  combative  and  defen- 
sive elements  were  not  prominently  developed  in  his 
character,  and  could  have  been  made  available  only 
when  he  put  an  unnatural  force  upon  his  instincts. 
It  was  on  this  account,  and  also  because  of  the  fine- 
ness of  his  nature  generally,  that  the  English  appre- 
ciated him  no  better,  and  left  this  sweet  and  delicate 
poet  poor,  and  with  scanty  laurels,  in  his  declining 
age. 

It  was  not,  I think,  from  his  American  blood  that 
Leigh  Hunt  derived  either  his  amiability  or  his  peace- 
ful inclinations  ; at  least,  I do  not  see  how  we  can 
reasonably  claim  the  former  quality  as  a national 
charaeteristic,  though  the  latter  might  have  been 
fairly  inherited  from  his  ancestors  on  the  mother’s 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


323 


side,  who  were  Pennsylvania  Quakers.  But  the  kind 
of  excellence  that  distinguished  him  — his  fineness, 
subtilty,  and  grace  — was  that  which  the  richest  cul- 
tivation has  heretofore  tended  to  develop  in  the  hap- 
pier examples  of  American  genius,  and  which  (though 
1 say  it  a little  reluctantly)  is  perhaps  what  our  future 
intellectual  advancement  may  make  general  among  us. 
His  person,  at  all  events,  was  thoroughly  American, 
and  of  the  best  type,  as  were  likewise  his  manners ; 
for  we  are  the  best  as  well  as  the  worst  mannered 
people  in  the  world. 

Leigh  Hunt  loved  dearly  to  be  praised.  That  is  to 
say,  he  desired  sympathy  as  a flower  seeks  sunshine, 
and  perhaps  profited  by  it  as  much  in  the  richer  depth 
of  coloring  that  it  imparted  to  his  ideas.  In  response 
to  all  that  we  ventured  to  express  about  his  writings 
(and,  for  my  part,  I went  quite  to  the  extent  of  my 
conscience,  which  was  a long  way,  and  there  left  the 
matter  to  a lady  and  a young  girl,  who  happily  were 
with  me),  his  face  shone,  and  he  manifested  great  de- 
light, with  a perfect,  and  yet  delicate,  frankness,  for 
which  I loved  him.  He  could  not  tell  us,  he  said,  the 
happiness  that  such  appreciation  gave  him  ; it  always 
took  him  by  surprise,  he  remarked,  for  — perhaps  be- 
cause he  cleaned  his  own  boots,  and  performed  other 
little  ordinary  offices  for  himself  — he  never  had  been 
conscious  of  anything  wonderful  in  his  own  person. 
And  then  he  smiled,  making  himself  and  all  the  poor 
little  parlor  about  him  beautiful  thereby.  It  is  usu- 
ally the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  praise  a man  to 
his  face ; but  Leigh  Hunt  received  the  incense  with 
such  gracious  satisfaction  (feeling  it  to  be  sympathy, 
not  vulgar  praise),  that  the  only  difficulty  was  to  keep 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment  within  the  limit  of 


324 


UP  THE  THAMES, 


permanent  opinion.  A storm  had  suddenly  come  up 
while  we  were  talking ; the  rain  poured,  the  lightning 
flashed,  and  the  thunder  broke  ; but  I hope,  and  have 
great  pleasure  in  believing,  that  it  was  a sunny  hour 
for  Leigh  Hunt.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not  to  my  voice 
that  he  most  favorably  inclined  his  ear,  but  to  those 
of  my  companions.  Women  are- the  fit  ministers  at 
such  a shrine. 

He  must  ha;Ve  suffered  keenly  in  his  lifetime,  and 
enjoyed  keenly,  keeping  his  emotions  so  much  upon 
the  surface  as  he  seemed  to  do,  and  convenient  for 
everybody  to  play  upon.  Being  of  a cheerful  temper- 
ament, happiness  had  probably  the  upperhand.  His 
was  a light,  mildly  joyous  nature,  gentle,  graceful,  yet 
seldom  attaining  to  that  deepest  grace  which  results 
from  power ; for  beauty,  like  woman,  its  human  repre- 
sentative, dallies  with  the  gentle,  but  yields  its  con- 
summate favor  only  to  the  strong.  I imagine  that 
Leigh  Hunt  may  have  been  more  beautiful  when  I 
met  him,  both  in  person  and  character,  than  in  his  ear- 
lier days.  As  a young  man,  I could  conceive  of  his 
being  finical  in  certain  moods,  but  not  now,  when  the 
gravity  of  age  shed  a venerable  grace  about  him.  I 
rejoiced  to  hear  him  say  that  he  was  favored  with  most 
confident  and  cheering  anticipations  in  respect  to  a 
future  life  ; and  there  were  abundant  proofs,  through- 
out our  interview,  of  an  unrepining  spirit,  resignation, 
quiet  relinquishment  of  the  worldly  benefits  that  were 
denied  him,  thankful  enjoyment  of  whatever  he  had 
to  enjoy,  and  piety,  and  hope  shining  onward  into  the 
dusk,  — all  of  which  gave  a reverential  cast  to  the 
feeling  with  which  we  parted  from  him.  I wish  that 
he  could  have  had  one  full  draught  of  prosperity  be- 
fore he  died.  As  a matter  of  artistic  propriety,  it 


UP  THE  THAMES. 


325 


would  have  been  delightful  to  see  him  inhabiting  a 
beautiful  house  of  his  own,  in  an  Italian  climate,  with 
all  sorts  of  elaborate  upholstery  and  minute  elegances 
about  him,  and  a succession  of  tender  and  lovely  wo- 
men to  praise  his  sweet  poetry  from  morning  to  night, 
I hardly  know  whether  it  is  my  fault,  or  the  effect  of 
a weakness  in  Leigh  Hunt’s  chara^cter,  that  I should 
be  sensible  of  a regret  of  this  nature,  when,  at  the 
same  time,  I sincerely  believe  that  he  has  found  an 
infinity  of  better  things  in  the  world  whither  he  has 
gone. 

At  our  leave-taking  he  grasped  me  warmly  by  both 
hands,  and  seemed  as  much  interested  in  our  whole 
party  as  if  he  had  known  us  for  years.  All  this  was 
genuine  feeling,  a quick,  luxuriant  growth  out  of  his 
heart,  which  was  a soil  for  flower-seeds  of  rich  and 
rare  varieties,  not  acorns,  but  a true  heart,  neverthe- 
less. Several  years  afterwards  I met  him  for  the  last 
time  at  a London  dinner-party,  looking  sadly  broken 
down  by  infirmities ; and  my  final  recollection  of  the 
beautiful  old  man  presents  him  arm  in  arm  with,  nay, 
if  I mistake  not,  partly  embraced  and  supported  by, 
another  beloved  and  honored  poet,  whose  minstrel- 
name,  since  he  has  a week-day  one  for  his  personal  oc- 
casions, I will  venture  to  speak.  It  was  Barry  Corn- 
wall, whose  kind  introduction  had  first  made  me  known 
to  Leigh  Hunt. 


OUTSIDE  GLIMPSES  OP  ENGLISH  POVEPTY, 


Becoming  an  inhabitant  of  a great  English  town, 
I often  turned  aside  from  the  prosperous  thorough- 
fares (where  the  edifices,  the  shops,  and  the  bustling 
crowd  differed  not  so  much  from  scenes  with  which  I 
was  familiar  in  my  own  country),  and  went  design- 
edly astray  among  precincts  that  reminded  me  of  some 
of  Dickens’s  grimiest  pages.  There  I caught  glimpses 
of  a people  and  a mode  of  life  that  were  comparatively 
new  to  my  observation,  a sort  of  sombre  phantasma- 
goric spectacle,  exceedingly  undelightful  to  behold, 
yet  involving  a singular  interest  and  even  fascination 
in  its  ugliness. 

Dirt,  one  would  fancy,  is  plenty  enough  all  over  the 
world,  being  the  symbolic  accompaniment  of  the  foul 
incrustation  which  began  to  settle  over  and  bedim  all 
earthly  things  as  soon  as  Eve  had  bitten  the  apple ; 
ever  since  which  hapless  epoch,  her  daughters  have 
chiefly  been  engaged  in  a desperate  and  unavailing 
struggle  to  get  rid  of  it.  But  the  dirt  of  a poverty- 
stricken  English  street  is  a monstrosity  unknown  on 
our  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It  reigns  supreme  within  its 
own  limits,  and  is  inconceivable  everywhere  beyond 
them.  We  enjoy  the  great  advantage,  that  the  bright- 
ness and  dryness  of  our  atmosphere  keep  everything 
clean  that  the  sun  shines  upon,  converting  the  larger 
portion  of  our  impurities  into  transitory  dust  which 
the  next  wind  can  sweep  away,  in  contrast  with  the 
damp,  adhesive  grime  that  incorporates  itself  with  all 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  327 


surfaces  (unless  continually  and  painfully  cleansed) 
in  the  chill  moisture  of  the  English  air.  Then  the  all- 
pervading  smoke  of  the  city,  abundantly  intermingled 
with  the  sable  snow-flakes  of  bituminous  coal,  hover- 
ing overhead,  descending,  and  alighting  on  pavements 
and  rich  architectural  fronts,  on  the  snowy  muslin  of 
the  ladies,  and  the  gentlemen’s  starched  collars  and 
shirt-bosoms,  invests  even  the  better  streets  in  a half- 
mourning garb.  It  is  beyond  the  resources  of  Wealth 
to  keep  the  smut  away  from  its  premises  or  its  own 
fingers’  ends  ; and  as  for  Poverty,  it  surrenders  itself 
to  the  dark  influence  without  a struggle.  Along  with 
disastrous  circumstances,  pinching  need,  adversity  so 
lengthened  out  as  to  constitute  the  rule  of  life,  there 
lomes  a certain  chill  depression  of  the  spirits  which 
seems  especially  to  shudder  at  cold  water.  In  view  of 
so  wretched  a state  of  things,  we  accept  the  ancient 
Deluge  not  merely  as  an  insulated  phenomenon,  but 
as  a periodical  necessity,  and  acknowledge  that  noth- 
ing less  than  such  a general  washing-day  could  suffice 
to  cleanse  the  slovenly  old  world  of  its  moral  and  ma- 
terial dirt. 

Gin-shops,  or  what  the  English  call  spirit-vaults,  are 
numerous  in  the  vicinity  of  these  poor  streets,  and  are 
set  off  with  the  magnificence  of  gilded  door-posts,  tar- 
nished by  contact  with  the  unclean  customers  who 
haunt  there.  Ragged  children  come  thither  with  old 
shaving-mugs,  or  broken-nosed  teapots,  or  any  such 
makeshift  receptacle,  to  get  a little  poison  or  madness 
for  their  parents,  who  deserve  no  better  requital  at 
their  hands  for  having  engendered  them.  Inconceiv- 
ably sluttish  women  enter  at  noonday  and  stand  at  the 
counter  among  boon-companions  of  both  sexes,  stirring 
up  misery  and  jollity  in  a bumper  together,  and  quaff- 


328  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


ing  ofif  the  mixture  with  a relish.  As  for  the  men, 
they  lounge  there  continually,  drinking  till  they  are 
drunken,  — drinking  as  long  as  they  have  a half- 
penny left,  and  then,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  waiting  for 
a sixpenny  miracle  to  be  wrought  in  their  pockets  so 
as  to  enable  them  to  be  drunken  again.  Most  of  these 
establishments  have  a significant  advertisement  of 
“^Beds,”  doubtless  for  the  accommodation  of  their 
customers  in  the  interval  between  one  intoxication  and 
the  next.  I never  could  find  it  in  my  heart,  however, 
utterly  to  condemn  these  sad  revellers,  and  should  cer- 
tainly wait  till  I had  some  better  consolation  to  offer 
before  depriving  them  of  their  dram  of  gin,  though 
death  itself  were  in  the  glass ; for  methought  their 
poor  souls  needed  such  fiery  stimulant  to  lift  them  a 
little  way  out  of  the  smothering  squalor  of  both  their 
outward  and  interior  life,  giving  them  glimpses  and 
suggestions,  even  if  bewildering  ones,  of  a spiritual  ex- 
istence that  limited  their  present  misery.  The  temper- 
ance-reformers unquestionably  derive  their  commission 
from  the  Divine  Beneficence,  but  have  never  been 
taken  fully  into  its  counsels.  All  may  not  be  lost, 
though  those  good  men  fail. 

Pawnbrokers’  establishments,  distinguished  by  the 
mystic  symbol  of  the  three  golden  balls,  were  conven- 
iently accessible  ; though  what  personal  property  these 
wretched  people  could  possess,  capable  of  being  esti- 
mated in  silver  or  copper,  so  as  to  afford  a basis  for 
a loan,  was  a problem  that  still  perplexes  me.  Old 
clothesmen,  likewise,  dwelt  hard  by,  and  hung  out  an- 
cient garments  to  dangle  in  the  wind.  There  were 
butchers’  shops,  too,  of  a class  adapted  to  the  neigh- 
borhood, presenting  no  such  generously  fattened  car- 
casses as  Englishmen  love  to  gaze  at  in  the  market, 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  329 


no  stupendous  halves  of  mighty  beeves,  no  dead  hogs, 
or  muttons  ornamented  with  carved  bas-reliefs  of  fat 
on  their  ribs  and  shoulders,  in  a peculiarly  British 
style  of  art,  — not  these,  but  bits  and  gobbets  of  lean 
meat,  selvages  snipt  off  from  steaks,  tough  and  stringy 
morsels,  bare  bones  smitten  away  from  joints  by  the 
cleaver ; tripe,  liver,  bullocks’  feet,  or  whatever  else 
was  cheapest  and  divisible  into  the  smallest  lots.  I am 
afraid  that  even  such  delicacies  came  to  many  of  their 
tables  hardly  oftener  than  Christmas.  In  the  windows 
of  other  little  shops  you  saw  half  a dozen  wizened  her- 
rings ; some  eggs  in  a basket,  looking  so  dingily  an- 
tique that  your  imagination  smelt  them ; fly-speckled 
biscuits,  segments  of  a hungry  cheese,  pipes  and  papers 
of  tobacco.  Now  and  then  a sturdy  milk-woman  passed 
by  with  a wooden  yoke  over  her  shoulders,  supporting 
a pail  on  either  side,  filled  with  a whitish  fluid,  the 
composition  of  which  was  water  and  chalk  and  the 
milk  of  a sickly  cow,  who  gave  the  best  she  had,  poor 
thing ! but  could  scarcely  make  it  rich  or  wholesome, 
spending  her  life  in  some  close  city-nook  and  pastur- 
ing on  strange  food.  I have  seen,  once  or  twice,  a 
donkey  coming  into  one  of  these  streets  with  panniers 
full  of  vegetables,  and  departing  with  a return  cargo 
of  what  looked  like  rubbish  and  street-sweepings.  No 
other  commerce  seemed  to  exist,  except,  possibly,  a girl 
might  offer  you  a pair  of  stockings  or  a worked  collar, 
or  a man  whisper  something  mysterious  about  won- 
derfully cheap  cigars.  And  yet  I remember  seeing 
female  hucksters  in  those  regions,  with  their  wares 
on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  and  their  own  seats  right 
in  the  carriage-way,  pretending  to  sell  half-decayed 
oranges  and  apples,  toffy,  Ormskirk  cakes,  combs,  and 
cheap  jewelry,  the  coarsest  kind  of  crockery,  and  little 


330  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


plates  of  oysters, — knitting  patiently  all  day  long,  and 
removing  their  undiminished  stock  in  trade  at  night- 
fall. All  indispensable  importations  from  other  quar- 
ters of  the  town  were  on  a remarkably  diminutive 
scale  : for  example,  the  wealthier  inhabitants  pur- 
chased their  eoal  by  the  wheelbarrow-load,  and  the 
poorer  ones  by  the  peck-measure.  It  was  a curious 
and  melancholy  spectacle,  when  an  overladen  coal-cart 
happened  to  pass  through  the  street  and  drop  a hand- 
ful or  two  of  its  burden  in  the  mud,  to  see  half  a dozen 
women  and  ehildren  scrambling  for  the  treasure-trove, 
like  a flock  of  hens  and  chickens  gobbling  up  some 
spilt  corn.  In  this  connection  I may  as  well  mention 
a commodity  of  boiled  snails  (for  such  they  appeared 
to  me,  though  probably  a marine  production)  which 
used  to  be  peddled  from  door  to  door,  piping  hot,  as 
an  article  of  cheap  nutriment. 

The  population  of  these  dismal  abodes  appeared  to 
consider  the  sidewalks  and  middle  of  the  street  as 
their  eommon  hall.  In  a drama  of  low  life,  the  unity 
of  place  might  be  arranged  rigidly  according  to  the 
classic  rule,  and  the  street  be  the  one  locality  in  which 
every  scene  and  incident  should  occur.  Courtship, 
quarrels,  plot  and  counterplot,  conspiracies  for  rob- 
bery and  murder,  family  difficulties  or  agreements,  — 
all  such  matters,  I doubt  not,  are  constantly  discussed 
or  transacted  in  this  sky-roofed  saloon,  so  regally  hung 
with  its  sombre  eanopy  of  coal-smoke.  Whatever  the 
disadvantages  of  the  English  climate,  the  only  com- 
fortable or  wholesome  part  of  life,  for  the  city  poor, 
must  be  spent  in  the  open  air.  The  stifled  and 
squalid  rooms  where  they  lie  down  at  night,  whole 
families  and  neighborhoods  together,  or  sulkily  elbow 
one  another  in  the  daytime,  when  a settled  rain  drives 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY,  331 


them  within  doors,  are  worse  horrors  than  it  is  worth 
while  (without  a practical  object  in  view)  to  admit 
into  one’s  imagination.  No  wonder  that  they  creep 
forth  from  the  foul  mystery  of  their  interiors,  stumble 
down  from  their  garrets,  or  scramble  up  out  of  their 
cellars,  on  the  upper  step  of  which  you  may  see  the 
grimy  housewife,  before  the  shower  is  ended,  letting 
the  raindrops  gutter  down  her  visage  ; while  her  chil- 
dren (an  impish  progeny  of  cavernous  recesses  below 
the  common  sphere  of  humanity)  swarm  into  the  day- 
light and  attain  all  that  they  know  of  personal  purifi- 
cation in  the  nearest  mud-puddle.  It  might  almost 
make  a man  doubt  the  existence  of  his  own  soul,  to 
observe  how  Nature  has  flung  these  little  wretches 
into  the  street  and  left  them  there,  so  evidently  re- 
garding them  as  nothing  worth,  and  how  all  mankind 
acquiesce  in  the  great  mother’s  estimate  of  her  off- 
spring. For,  if  they  are  to  have  no  immortality,  what 
superior  claim  can  I assert  for  mine  ? And  how  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  anything  so  precious  as  a germ  of 
immortal  growth  can  have  been  buried  under  this  dirt- 
heap,  plunged  into  this  cesspool  of  misery  and  vice  I 
As  often  as  I beheld  the  scene,  it  affected  me  with  sur- 
prise and  loathsome  interest,  much  resembling,  though 
in  a far  intenser  degree,  the  feeling  with  which,  when 
a boy,  I used  to  turn  over  a plank  or  an  old  log  that 
had  long  lain  on  the  damp  ground,  and  found  a viva- 
cious multitude  of  unclean  and  devilish  - looking  in- 
sects scampering  to  and  fro  beneath  it.  Without  an 
infinite  faith,  there  seemed  as  much  prospect  of  a 
blessed  futurity  for  those  hideous  bugs  and  many- 
footed worms  as  for  these  brethren  of  our  humanity 
and  co-heirs  of  all  our  heavenly  inheritance.  Ah, 
what  a mystery ! Slowly,  slowly,  as  after  groping  at 


332  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


the  bottom  of  a deep,  noisome,  stagnant  pool,  my  hope 
struggles  upward  to  the  surface,  bearing  the  half- 
drowned  body  of  a child  along  with  it,  and  heaving  it 
aloft  for  its  life,  and  my  own  life,  and  all  our  lives. 
Unless  these  slime-clogged  nostrils  can  be  made  capa- 
ble of  inhaling  celestial  air,  I know  not  how  the  purest 
and  most  intellectual  of  us  can  reasonably  expect  ever 
to  taste  a breath  of  it.  The  whole  question  of  eternity 
is  staked  there.  If  a single  one  of  those  helpless  little 
ones  be  lost,  the  world  is  lost  ! 

The  women  and  children  greatly  preponderate  in 
such  places ; the  men  probably  wandering  abroad  in 
quest  of  that  daily  miracle,  a dinner  and  a drink,  or 
perhaps  slumbering  in  the  daylight  that  they  may  the 
better  follow  out  their  cat-like  rambles  through  the 
dark.  Here  are  women  with  young  figures,  but  old, 
wrinkled,  yellow  faces,  tanned  and  blear-eyed  with  the 
smoke  which  they  cannot  spare  from  .their  scanty  fires, 
— it  being  too  precious  for  its  warmth  to  be  swallowed 
by  the  chimney.  Some  of  them  sit  on  the  doorsteps, 
nursing  their  unwashed  babies  at  bosoms  which  we  will 
glance  aside  from,  for  the  sake  of  our  mothers  and  all 
womanhood,  because  the  fairest  spectacle  is  here  the 
foulest.  Yet  motherhood,  in  these  dark  abodes,  is 
strangely  identical  with  what  we  have  all  known  it  to 
be  in  the  happiest  homes.  Nothing,  as  I remember, 
smote  me  with  more  grief  and  pity  (all  the  more  poign 
ant  because  perplexingly  entangled  with  an  inclina- 
tion to  smile)  than  to  hear  a gaunt  and  ragged  mother 
priding  herself  on  the  pretty  ways  of  her  ragged  and 
skinny  infant,  just  as  a young  matron  might,  when  she 
invites  her  lady  friends  to  admire  her  plump,  white- 
robed  darling  in  the  nursery.  Indeed,  no  womanly 
characteristic  seemed  to  have  altogether  perished  out 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  833 


of  these  poor  souls.  It  was  the  very  same  creature 
whose  tender  torments  make  the  rapture  of  our  young 
days,  whom  we  love,  cherish,  and  protect,  and  rely 
upon  in  life  and  death,  and  whom  we  delight  to  see 
beautify  her  beauty  with  rich  robes  and  set  it  off  with 
jewels,  though  now  fantastically  masquerading  in  a 
garb  of  tatters,  wholly  unfit  for  her  to  handle.  I rec- 
ognized her,  over  and  over  again,  in  the  groups  round 
a doorstep  or  in  the  descent  of  a cellar,  chatting  with 
prodigious  earnestness  about  intangible  trifles,  laugh- 
ing for  a little  jest,  sympathizing  at  almost  the  same 
instant  with  one  neighbor’s  sunshine  and  another’s 
shadow ; wise,  simple,  sly,  and  patient,  yet  easily  per- 
turbed, and  breaking  into  small  feminine  ebullitions 
of  spite,  wrath,  and  jealousy,  tornadoes  of  a moment, 
such  as  vary  the  social  atmosphere  of  her  silken- skirted 
sisters,  though  smothered  into  propriety  by  dint  of  a 
well-bred  habit.  Not  that  there  was  an  absolute  de- 
ficiency of  good-breeding,  even  here.  It  often  sur- 
prised me  to  witness  a courtesy  and  deference  among 
these  ragged  folks,  which,  having  seen  it,  I did  not 
thoroughly  believe  in,  wondering  whence  it  should 
have  come.  I am  persuaded,  however,  that  there 
were  laws  of  intercourse  which  they  never  violated, 
— a code  of  the  cellar,  the  garret,  the  common  stair- 
case, the  doorstep,  and  the  pavement,  which  perhaj^s 
had  as  deep  a foundation  in  natural  fitness  as  the  code 
of  the  drawing-room. 

Yet  again  I doubt  whether  I may  not  have  been  ut- 
tering folly  in  the  last  two  sentences,  when  I reflect 
how  rude  and  rough  these  specimens  of  feminine  char- 
acter generally  were.  They  had  a readiness  with  their 
hands  that  reminded  me  of  Molly  Seagrim  and  other 
heroines  in  Fielding’s  novels.  For  example,  I have 


334  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


seen  a woman  meet  a man  in  the  street,  and,  for  no 
reason  perceptible  to  me,  suddenly  clutch  him  by  the 
hair  and  cuff  his  ears,  — an  infliction  which  he  bore 
with  exemjDlary  patience,  only  snatching  the  very  ear- 
liest opportunity  to  take  to  his  heels.  Where  a sharp 
tongue  will  not  serve  the  purpose,  they  trust  to  the 
sharpness  of  their  finger-nails,  or  incarnate  a whole 
vocabulary  of  vituperative  words  in  a resounding  slap, 
or  the  downright  blow  of  a doubled  fist.  All  English 
people,  I imagine,  are  influenced  in  a far  greater  de- 
gree than  ourselves  by  this  simple  and  honest  ten- 
dency, in  cases  of  disagreement,  to  batter  one  another’s 
persons  ; and  whoever  has  seen  a crowd  of  English 
ladies  (for  instance,  at  the  door  of  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
in  Holy  Week)  will  be  satisfied  that  their  belligerent 
propensities  are  kept  in  abeyance  ojily  by  a merciless 
rigor  on  the  part  of  society.  It  requires  a vast  deal  of 
refinement  to  spiritualize  their  large  physical  endow- 
ments. Such  being  the  case  with  the  delicate  orna- 
ments of  the  drawing-room,  it  is  less  to  be  wondered  at 
that  women  who  live  mostly  in  the  open  air,  amid  the 
coarsest  kind  of  companionship  and  occupation,  should 
carry  on  the  intercourse  of  life  with  a freedom  un- 
known to  any  class  of  American  females,  though  still, 
1 am  resolved  to  think,  compatible  with  a generous 
breadth  of  natural  propriety.  It  shocked  me,  at  first, 
to  see  them  (of  all  ages,  even  elderly,  as  well  as  in- 
fants that  could  just  toddle  across  the  street  alone)  go- 
ing about  in  the  mud  and  mire,  or  through  the  dusky 
snow  and  slosh  of  a severe  week  in  winter,  with  petti- 
coats high  uplifted  above  bare,  red  feet  and  legs  ; but 
I was  comforted  by  observing  that  both  shoes  and 
stockings  generally  reappeared  with  better  weather, 
having  been  thriftily  kept  out  of  the  damp  for  the  con- 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  335 


venience  of  dry  feet  within  doors.  Their  hardihood 
was  wonderful,  and  their  strength  greater  than  could 
have  been  expected  from  such  spare  diet  as  they  prob- 
ably lived  upon.  I have  seen  them  carrying  on  their 
heads  great  burdens  under  which  they  walked  as  freely 
as  if  they  were  fashionable  bonnets  ; or  sometimes  the 
burden  was  huge  enough  almost  to  cover  the  whole 
person,  looked  at  from  behind,  — as  in  Tuscan  villages 
you  may  see  the  girls  coming  in  from  the  country  with 
great  bundles  of  green  twigs  upon  their  backs,  so  that 
they  resemble  locomotive  masses  of  verdure  and  fra- 
grance. But  these  poor  English  women  seemed  to  be 
laden  with  rubbish,  incongruous  and  indescribable, 
such  as  bones  and  rags,  the  sweepings  of  the  house  and 
of  the  street,  a merchandise  gathered  up  from  what 
poverty  itself  had  thrown  away,  a heap  of  filthy  stuff 
analogous  to  Christian’s  bundle  of  sin. 

Sometimes,  though  very  seldom,  I detected  a certain 
gracefulness  among  the  younger  women  that  was  alto- 
gether new  to  my  observation.  It  was  a charm  proper 
to  the  lowest  class.  One  girl  I particularly  remem- 
ber, in  a garb  none  of  the  cleanest  and  nowise  smart, 
and  herself  exceedingly  coarse  in  all  respects,  but  yet 
endowed  with  a sort  of  witchery,  a native  charm,  a 
robe  of  simple  beauty  and  suitable  behavior  that  she 
was  born  in  and  had  never  been  tempted  to  throw  off, 
because  she  had  really  nothing  else  to  put  on.  Eve 
herself  could  not  have  been  more  natural.  Nothing 
was  affected,  nothing  imitated  ; no  proper  grace  was 
vulgarized  by  an  effort  to  assume  the  manners  or 
adornments  of  another  sphere,  This  kind  of  beauty, 
arrayed  in  a fitness  of  its  ov  n,  is  probably  vanishing 
out  of  the  world,  and  will  certainly  never  be  found  in 
America,  where  all  the  girls,  whether  daughters  of  the 


336  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


upper-tendom,  the  mediocrity,  the  cottage,  or  the  ken- 
nel, aim  at  one  standard  of  dress  and  deportment,  sel- 
dom accomplishing  a perfectly  triumphant  hit  or  an 
utterly  absurd  failure.  Those  words,  “ genteel  ” and 
ladylike,”  are  terrible  ones,  and  do  us  infinite  mis- 
chief, but  it  is  because  (at  least,  I hope  so)  we  are  in 
a transition  state,  and  shall  emerge  into  a higher  mode 
of  simplicity  than  has  ever  been  known  to  past  ages. 

In  such  disastrous  circumstances  as  I have  been  at- 
tempting to  describe,  it  was  beautiful  to  observe  what 
a mysterious  efficacy  still  asserted  itself  in  character. 
A woman,  evidently  poor  as  the  poorest  of  her  neigh- 
bors, would  be  knitting  or  sewing  on  the  doorstep,  just 
as  fifty  other  women  were  ; but  round  about  her  skirts 
(though  wofully  patched)  you  would  be  sensible  of 
a certain  sphere  of  decency,  which,  it  seemed  to  me, 
could  not  have  been  kept  more  impregnable  in  the 
cosiest  little  sitting-room,  where  the  teakettle  on  the 
hob  was  humming  its  good  old  song  of  domestic  peace. 
Maidenhood  had  a similar  power.  The  evil  habit  that 
grows  upon  us  in  this  harsh  world  makes  me  faithless 
to  my  own  better  perceptions  ; and  yet  I have  seen 
girls  in  these  wretched  streets,  on  whose  virgin  purity, 
judging  merely  from  their  impression  on  my  instincts 
as  they  passed  by,  I should  have  deemed  it  safe,  at 
the  moment,  to  stake  my  life.  The  next  moment,  how- 
ever, as  the  surrounding  flood  of  moral  uncleanness 
surged  over  their  footsteps,  I would  not  have  staked  a 
spike  of  thistle-down  on  the  same  wager.  Yet  the 
miracle  was  within  the  scope  of  Providence,  which  is 
equally  wise  and  equally  beneficent  (even  to  those  poor 
girls,  though  I acknowledge  the  fact  without  the  re^ 
motest  comprehension  of  the  mode  of  it),  whether  they 
were  pure  or  what  we  fellow-sinners  call  vile.  Unless 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  337 


your  faith  be  deep-rooted  and  of  most  vigorous  growth^ 
it  is  the  safer  way  not  to  turn  aside  into  this  region  so 
suggestive  of  miserable  doubt.  It  was  a place  “ with 
dreadful  faces  thronged,”  wrinkled  and  grim  with  vice 
and  wretchedness ; and,  thinking  over  the  line  of  Mik 
ton  here  quoted,  I come  to  the  conclusion  that  those 
ugly  lineaments  which  startled  Adam  and  Eve,  as  they 
looked  backward  to  the  closed  gate  of  Paradise,  were 
no  fiends  from  the  pit,  but  the  more  terrible  foreshad^ 
owings  of  what  so  many  of  their  descendants  were  to 
be.  God  help  them,  and  us  likewise,  their  brethren 
and  sisters  ! Let  me  add,  that,  forlorn,  ragged,  care- 
worn, hopeless,  dirty,  haggard,  hungry,  as  they  were, 
the  most  pitiful  thing  of  all  was  to  see  the  sort  of  pa- 
tience with  which  they  accepted  their  lot,  as  if  they  had 
been  born  into  the  world  for  that  and  nothing  else. 
Even  the  little  children  had  this  characteristic  in  as 
perfect  development  as  their  grandmothers. 

The  children,  in  truth,  were  the  ill-omened  blossoms 
from  which  another  harvest  of  precisely  such  dark 
fruitage  as  I saw  ripened  around  me  was  to  be  pro- 
duced. Of  course  you  would  imagine  these  to  be 
lumps  of  crude  iniquity,  tiny  vessels  as  full  as  they 
could  hold  of  naughtiness ; nor  can  I say  a great  deal 
to  the  contrary.  Small  proof  of  parental  discipline 
could  I discern,  save  when  a mother  (drunken,  I sin- 
cerely hope)  snatched  her  own  imp  out  of  a group 
of  pale,  half-naked,  humor-eaten  abortions  that  were 
playing  and  squabbling  together  in  the  mud,  turned  up 
its  tatters,  brought  down  her  heavy  hand  on  its  poor 
little  tenderest  part,  and  let  it  go  again  with  a shake. 
If  the  child  knew  what  the  punishment  was  for,  it  was 
wiser  than  I pretend  to  be.  It  yelled  and  went  back 
to  its  playmates  in  the  mud.  Yet  let  me  bear  testi- 

VOL.  VII.  22 


338  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


mony  to  what  was  beautiful,  and  more  touching  than 
anything  that  I ever  witnessed  before  in  the  inter- 
course of  happier  children.  I allude  to  the  superin- 
tendence which  some  of  these  small  people  (too  small, 
one  would  think,  to  be  sent  into  the  street  alone, 
had  there  been  any  other  nursery  for  them)  exercised 
over  still  smaller  ones.  Whence  they  derived  such  a 
sense  of  duty,  unless  immediately  from  God,  I cannot 
tell ; but  it  was  wonderful  to  observe  the  expression 
of  responsibility  in  their  deportment,  the  anxious  fidel- 
ity with  which  they  discharged  their  unfit  office,  the 
tender  patience  with  which  they  linked  their  less  pliable 
impulses  to  the  wayward  footsteps  of  an  infant,  and 
let  it  guide  them  whithersoever  it  liked.  In  the  hol- 
low-cheeked, large-eyed  girl  of  ten,  whom  I saw  giving 
a cheerless  oversight  to  her  baby  - brother,  I did  not 
so  much  marvel  at  it.  She  had  merely  come  a little 
earlier  than  usual  to  the  perception  of  what  was  to 
be  her  business  in  life.  But  I admired  the  sickly- 
looking  little  boy,  who  did  violence  to  his  boyish  na- 
ture by  making  himself  the  servant  of  his  little  sister, 
— she  too  small  to  walk,  and  he  too  small  to  take  her 
in  his  arms,  — and  therefore  working  a kind  of  mir- 
acle to  transport  her  from  one  dirt-heap  to  another. 
Beholding  such  works  of  love  and  duty,  I took  heart 
again,  and  deemed  it  not  so  impossible,  after  all,  for 
these  neglected  children  to  find  a path  through  the 
squalor  and  evil  of  their  circumstances  up  to  the  gate 
of  heaven.  Perhaps  there  was  this  latent  good  in  all 
of  them,  though  generally  they  looked  brutish,  and  dull 
even  in  their  sports ; there  was  little  mirth  among 
them,  nor  even  a fully  awakened  spirit  of  blackguard^ 
ism.  Yet  sometimes,  again,  I saw,  with  surprise  and 
a sense  as  if  I had  been  asleep  and  dreaming,  the 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY,  339 


bright,  intelligent,  merry  face  of  a child  whose  dark 
eyes  gleamed  with  vivacious  expression  through  the 
dirt  that  incrusted  its  skin,  like  sunshine  struggling 
through  a very  dusty  window-pane. 

In  these  streets  the  belted  and  blue-coated  police- 
man appears  seldom  in  comparison  with  the  frequency 
of  his  occurrence  in  more  reputable  thoroughfares.  I 
used  to  think  that  the  inhabitants  would  have  ample 
time  to  murder  one  another,  or  any  stranger,  like  my- 
self, who  might  violate  the  filthy  sanctities  of  the 
place,  before  the  law  could  bring  up  its  lumbering  as- 
sistance. Nevertheless,  there  is  a supervision ; nor 
does  the  watchfulness  of  authority  permit  the  populace 
to  be  tempted  to  any  outbreak.  Once,  in  a time  of 
dearth,  I noticed  a ballad  - singer  going  through  the 
street  hoarsely  chanting  some  discordant  strain  in  a 
provincial  dialect,  of  which  I could  only  make  out 
that  it  addressed  the  sensibilities  of  the  auditors  on  the 
score  of  starvation  ; but  by  his  side  stalked  the  police- 
man, offering  no  interference,  but  watchful  to  hear 
what  this  rough  minstrel  said  or  sang,  and  silence  him, 
if  his  effusion  threatened  to  prove  too  soul-stirring. 
In  my  judgment,  however,  there  is  little  or  no  danger 
of  that  kind : they  starve  patiently,  sicken  patiently, 
die  patiently,  not  through  resignation,  but  a diseased 
flaccidity  of  hope.  If  ever  they  should  do  mischief  to 
those  above  them,  it  will  probably  be  by  the  communi- 
cation of  some  destructive  pestilence  ; for,  so  the  med- 
ical men  affirm,  they  suffer  all  the  ordinary  diseases 
with  a degree  of  virulence  elsewhere  unknown,  and 
keep  among  themselves  traditionary  plagues  that  have 
long  ceased  to  afflict  more  fortunate  societies.  Char- 
ity herself  gathers  her  robe  about  her  to  avoid  their 
contact.  It  would  be  a dire  revenge,  indeed,  if  they 


340  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


were  to  prove  their  claims  to  be  reckoned  of  one  blood 
and  nature  with  the  noblest  and  wealthiest  by  compel- 
ling them  to  inhale  death  through  the  diffusion  of 
their  own  poverty-poisoned  atmosphere. 

A true  Englishman  is  a kind  man  at  heart,  but  has 
an  unconquerable  dislike  to  poverty  and  beggary. 
Beggars  have  heretofore  been  so  strange  to  an  Ameri- 
can that  he  is  apt  to  become  their  prey,  being  recog- 
nized through  his  national  peculiarities,  and  beset  by 
them  in  the  streets.  The  English  smile  at  him,  and 
say  that  there  are  ample  public  arrangements  for 
every  pauper’s  possible  need,  that  street  charity  pro- 
motes idleness  and  vice,  and  that  yonder  personifica- 
tion of  misery  on  the  pavement  will  lay  up  a good 
day’s  profit,  besides  supping  more  luxuriously  than 
the  dupe  who  gives  him  a shilling.  By  and  by  the 
stranger  adopts  their  theory  and  begins  to  practise 
upon  it,  much  to  his  own  temporary  freedom  from 
annoyance,  but  not  entirely  without  moral  detriment 
or  sometimes  a too  late  contrition.  Years  afterwards, 
it  may  be,  his  memory  is  still  haunted  by  some  vin- 
dictive wretch . whose  cheeks  were  pale  and  hunger- 
pinched,  whose  rags  fluttered  in  the  east-wind,  whose 
right  arm  was  paralyzed  and  his  left  leg  shrivelled 
into  a mere  nerveless  stick,  but  whom  he  passed  by  re- 
morselessly because  an  Englishman  chose  to  say  that 
the  fellow’s  misery  looked  too  perfect,  was  too  artist- 
ically got  up,  to  be  genuine.  Even  allowing  this  to  be 
true  (as,  a hundred  chances  to  one,  it  was),  it  would 
still  have  been  a clear  case  of  economy  to  buy  him  off 
with  a little  loose  silver,  so  that  his  lamentable  figure 
should  not  limp  at  the  heels  of  your  conscience  all 
over  the  world.  To  own  the  truth,  I provided  myself 
with  several  such  imaginary  persecutors  in  England, 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY,  341 


and  recruited  their  number  with  at  least  one  sickly- 
looking  wretch  whose  acquaintance  I first  made  at  As- 
sisi, in  Italy,  and,  taking  a dislike  to  something  sinis- 
ter in  his  aspect,  permitted  him  to  beg  early  and  late, 
and  all  day  long,  without  getting  a single  baiocco.  At 
my  latest  glimpse  of  him,  the  villain  avenged  himself, 
not  by  a volley  of  horrible  curses  as  any  other  Italian 
beggar  would,  but  by  taking  an  expression  so-  grief- 
stricken,  want-wrung,  hopeless,  and  withal  resigned, 
that  I could  paint  his  lifelike  portrait  at  this  moment. 
Were  I to  go  over  the  same  ground  again,  I would  lis- 
ten to  no  man’s  theories,  but  buy  the  little  luxury  of 
beneficence  at  a cheap  rate,  instead  of  doing  myself  a 
moral  mischief  by  exuding  a stony  incrustation  over 
whatever  natural  sensibility  I might  possess. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  were  some  mendicants 
whose  utmost  efforts  I even  now  felicitate  myself  on 
having  withstood.  Such  was  a phenomenon  abridged 
of  his  lower  half,  who  beset  me  for  two  or  three  years 
together,  and,  in  spite  of  his  deficiency  of  locomotive 
members,  had  some  supernatural  method  of  transport- 
ing himself  (simultaneously,  I believe)  to  all  quarters 
of  the  city.  He  wore  a sailor’s  jacket  (possibly,  be- 
cause skirts  would  have  been  a superfluity  to  his  fig- 
ure), and  had  a remarkably  broad-shouldered  and  mus- 
cular frame,  surmounted  by  a large,  fresh-colored  face, 
which  was  full  of  power  and  intelligence.  His  dress 
and  linen  were  the  perfection  of  neatness.  Once  a 
day,  at  least,  wherever  I went,  I suddenly  became 
aware  of  this  trunk  of  a man  on  the  path  before  me, 
resting  on  his  base,  and  looking  as  if  he  had  just 
sprouted  out  of  the  pavement,  and  would  sink  into  it 
again  and  reappear  at  some  other  spot  the  instant  you 
left  him  behind.  The  expression  of  his  eye  was  per- 


342  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 


fectly  respectful,  but  terribly  fixed,  holding  your  own 
as  by  fascination,  never  once  winking,  never  wavering 
from  its  point-blank  gaze  right  into  your  face,  till  you 
were  completely  beyond  the  range  of  his  battery  of 
one  immense  rifled  cannon.  This  was  his  mode  of 
soliciting  alms ; and  he  reminded  me  of  the  old  beg- 
gar who  appealed  so  touchingly  to  the  charitable  sym- 
pathies of  Gil  Bias,  taking  aim  at  him  from  the  road- 
side with  a long  - barrelled  musket.  The  intentness 
and  directness  of  his  silent  appeal,  his  close  and  unre- 
lenting attack  upon  your  individuality,  respectful  as 
it  seemed,  was  the  very  flower  of  insolence ; or,  if  you 
give  it  a possibly  truer  interpretation,  it  was  the  ty- 
rannical effort  of  a man  endowed  with  great  natural 
force  of  character  to  constrain  your  reluctant  will  to 
his  purpose.  Apparently,  he  had  staked  his  salva- 
tion upon  the  ultimate  success  of  a daily  struggle  be- 
tween himself  and  me,  the  triumph  of  which  would 
compel  me  to  become  a tributary  to  the  hat  that  lay 
on  the  pavement  beside  him.  Man  or  fiend,  however, 
there  was  a stubbornness  in  his  intended  victim  which 
this  massive  fragment  of  a mighty  personality  had  not 
altogether  reckoned  upon,  and  by  its  aid  I was  enabled 
to  pass  him  at  my  customary  pace  hundreds  of  times 
over,  quietly  meeting  his  terribly  respectful  eye,  and 
allowing  him  the  fair  chance  which  I felt  to  be  his 
due,  to  subjugate  me,  if  he  really  had  the  strength  for 
it.  He  never  succeeded,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  never 
gave  up  the  contest ; and  should  I ever  walk  those 
streets  again,  I am  certain  that  the  truncated  tyrant 
will  sprout  up  through  the  pavement  and  look  me  fix- 
edly in  the  eye,  and  perhaps  get  the  victory. 

I should  think  all  the  more  highly  of  myself,  if  I 
had  shown  equal  heroism  in  resisting  another  class  of 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  343 


beggarly  depredators,  who  assailed  me  on  my  weaker 
side  and  won  an  easy  spoil.  Such  was  the  sanctimo« 
nious  clergyman,  with  his  white  cravat,  who  visited 
me  with  a subscription-paper,  which  he  himself  had 
drawn  up,  in  a case  of  heart-rending  distress ; — the 
respectable  and  ruined  tradesman,  going  from  door  to 
door,  shy  and  silent  in  his  own  person,  but  accompa- 
nied by  a sympathizing  friend,  who  bore  testimony  to 
his  integrity,  and  stated  the  unavoidable  misfortunes 
that  had  crushed  him  down ; — or  the  delicate  and 
prettily  dressed  lady,  who  had  been  bred  in  affluence, 
but  was  suddenly  thrown  upon  the  perilous  charities 
of  the  world  by  the  death  of  an  indulgent,  but  secretly 
insolvent  father,  or  the  commercial  catastrophe  and 
simultaneous  suicide  of  the  best  of  husbands ; — oi* 
the  gifted,  but  unsuccessful  author,  appealing  to  my 
fraternal  sympathies,  generously  rejoicing  in  some 
small  prosperities  which  he  was  kind  enough  to  term 
my  own  triumphs  in  the  field  of  letters,  and  claiming 
to  have  largely  contributed  to  them  by  his  unbought 
notices  in  the  public  journals.  England  is  full  of 
such  people,  and  a hundred  other  varieties  of  peripa- 
tetic tricksters,  higher  than  these,  and  lower,  who  act 
their  parts  tolerably  well,  but  seldom  with  an  abso- 
lutely illusive  effect.  I knew  at  once,  raw  Yankee  as 
I was,  that  they  were  humbugs,  almost  without  an  ex- 
ception,— rats  that  nibble  at  the  honest  bread  and 
cheese  of  the  community,  and  grow  fat  by  their  petty 
pilferings,  — yet  often  gave  them  what  they  asked, 
and  privately  owned  myself  a simpleton.  There  is  a 
decorum  which  restrains  you  (unless  you  happen  to  be 
a police-constable)  from  breaking  through  a crust  of 
plausible  respectability,  even  when  you  are  certain 
that  there  is  a knave  beneath  it. 


344  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


After  making  myself  as  familiar  as  I decently  could 
with  the  poor  streets,  I became  curious  to  see  what 
kind  of  a home  was  provided  for  the  inhabitants  at 
the  public  expense,  fearing  that  it  must  needs  be  a 
most  comfortless  one,  or  else  their  choice  (if  choice  it 
were)  of  so  miserable  a life  outside  was  truly  difficult 
to  account  for.  Accordingly,  I visited  a great  alms- 
house, and  was  glad  to  observe  how  unexceptionably 
all  the  parts  of  the  establishment  were  carried  on,  and 
what  an  orderly  life,  full  - fed,  sufficiently  reposeful, 
and  undisturbed  by  the  arbitrary  exercise  of  author- 
ity, seemed  to  be  led  there.  Possibly,  indeed,  it  was 
that  very  orderliness,  and  the  cruel  necessity  of  being 
neat  and  clean,  and  even  the  comfort  resulting  from 
these  and  other  Christian-like  restraints  and  regula- 
tions, that  constituted  the  principal  grievance  on  the 
part  of  the  poor,  shiftless  inmates,  accustomed  to  a life- 
long luxury  of  dirt  and  harum-scarumness.  The  wild 
life  of  the  streets  has  perhaps  as  unforgetable  a charm, 
to  those  who  have  once  thoroughly  imbibed  it,  as  the 
life  of  the  forest  or  the  prairie.  But  I conceive  rather 
that  there  must  be  insuperable  difficulties,  for  the  ma- 
jority of  the  poor,  in  the  way  of  getting  admittance  to 
the  almshouse,  than  that  a merely  aesthetic  preference 
for  the  street  would  incline  the  pauper  class  to  fare 
scantily  and  precariously,  and  expose  their  raggedness 
to  the  rain  and  snow,  when  such  a hospitable  door 
stood  wide  open  for  their  entrance.  It  might  be  that 
the  roughest  and  darkest  side  of  the  matter  was  not 
shown  me,  there  being  persons  of  eminent  station  and 
of  both  sexes  in  the  party  which  I accompanied ; and, 
of  course,  a properly  trained  public  functionary  would 
have  deemed  it  a monstrous  rudeness,  as  well  as  a 
great  shame,  to  exhibit  anything  to  people  of  rank 
that  might  too  painfully  shock  their  sensibilities. 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  345 


The  women’s  ward  was  the  portion  of  the  establish- 
ment which  we  especially  examined.  It  could  not  be 
questioned  that  they  were  treated  with  kindness  as 
well  as  care.  No  doubt,  as  has  been  already  sug- 
gested, some  of  them  felt  the  irksomeness  of  submis- 
sion to  general  rules  of  orderly  behavior,  after  being 
accustomed  to  that  perfect  freedom  from  the  minor 
proprieties,  at  least,  which  is  one  of  the  compensations 
of  absolutely  hopeless  poverty,  or  of  any  circumstances 
that  set  us  fairly  below  the  decencies  of  life.  I asked 
the  governor  of  the  house  whether  he  met  with  any 
difficulty  in  keeping  peace  and  order  among  his  in- 
mates ; and  he  informed  me  that  his  troubles  among 
the  women  were  incomparably  greater  than  witli  the 
men.  They  were  freakish,  and  apt  to  be  quarrelsome, 
inclined  to  plague  and  pester  one  another  in  ways  that 
it  was  impossible  to  lay  hold  of,  and  to  thwart  his 
own  authority  by  the  like  intangible  methods.  He 
said  this  with  the  utmost  good-nature,  and  quite  won 
my  regard  by  so  placidly  resigning  himself  to  the  in- 
evitable necessity  of  letting  the  women  throw  dust 
into  his  eyes.  They  certainly  looked  peaceable  and 
sisterly  enough  as  I saw  them,  though  still  it  might  be 
faintly  perceptible  that  some  of  them  were  consciously 
playing  their  parts  before  the  governor  and  his  distin- 
guished visitors. 

This  governor  seemed  to  me  a man  thoroughly  fit 
for  his  position.  An  American,  in  an  office  of  similar 
responsibility,  would  doubtless  be  a much  superior 
person,  better  educated,  possessing  a far  wider  range 
of  thought,  more  naturally  acute,  with  a quicker  tact 
of  external  observation  and  a readier  faculty  of  deal- 
ing with  difficult  cases.  The  women  would  not  suc- 
ceed in  throwing  half  so  much  dust  into  his  eyes. 


346  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 


Moreover,  his  black  coat,  and  thin,  sallow  visage, 
would  make  him  look  like  a scholar,  and  his  manners 
would  indefinitely  approximate  to  those  of  a gentle- 
man. But  I cannot  help  questioning  whether,  on  the 
whole,  these  higher  endowments  would  produce  de- 
cidedly better  results.  The  Englishman  was  thor- 
oughly plebeian  both  in  aspect  and  behavior,  a bluif, 
ruddy -faced,  hearty,  kindly,  yeoman -like  personage, 
with  no  refinement  whatever,  nor  any  superfluous  sen- 
sibility, but  gifted  with  a native  wholesomeness  of 
character  which  must  have  been  a very  beneficial  ele- 
ment in  the  atmosphere  of  the  almshouse.  He  spoke 
to  his  pauper  family  in  loud,  good-humored,  cheerful 
tones,  and  treated  them  with  a healthy  freedom  that 
probably  caused  the  forlorn  wretches  to  feel  as  if  they 
were  free  and  healthy  likewise.  If  he  had  under- 
stood them  a little  better,  he  would  not  have  treated 
them  half  so  wisely.  We  are  apt  to  make  sickly  peo- 
ple more  morbid,  and  unfortunate  people  more  miser- 
able, by  endeavoring  to  adapt  our  deportment  to  their 
especial  and  individual  needs.  They  eagerly  accept 
our  well-meant  efforts ; but  it  is  like  returning  their 
own  sick  breath  back  upon  themselves,  to  be  breathed 
over  and  over  again,  intensifying  the  inward  mischief 
at  every  reception.  The  sympathy  that  would  really 
do  them  good  is  of  a kind  that  recognizes  their  sound 
and  healthy  parts,  and  ignores  the  part  affected  by 
disease,  which  will  thrive  under  the  eye  of  a too  close 
observer  like  a poisonous  weed  in  the  sunshine.  My 
good  friend  the  governor  had  no  tendencies  in  the  lat- 
ter direction,  and  abundance  of  them  in  the  former, 
and  was  consequently  as  wholesome  and  invigorating 
as  the  west-wind  with  a little  spice  of  the  north  in  it, 
brightening  the  dreary  visages  that  encountered  us  as 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  347 


if  he  had  carried  a sunbeam  in  his  hand.  He  ex- 
pressed himself  by  his  whole  being  and  personality, 
and  by  works  more  than  words,  and  had  the  not  un- 
usual English  merit  of  knowing  what  to  do  much  bet- 
ter than  how  to  talk  about  it. 

The  women,  I imagine,  must  have  felt  one  imper- 
fection in  their  state,  however  comfortable  otherwise. 
They  were  forbidden,  or,  at  all  events,  lacked  the 
means,  to  follow  out  their  natural  instinct  of  adorning 
themselves ; all  were  well  dressed  in  one  homely  uni- 
form of  blue-checked  gowns,  with  such  caps  upon  their 
lieads  as  English  servants  wear.  Generally,  too,  they 
had  one  dowdy  English  aspect,  and  a vulgar  type  of 
features  so  nearly  alike  that  they  seemed  literally  to 
constitute  a sisterhood.  We  have  few  of  these  abso- 
lutely unilluminated  faces  among  our  native  American 
population,  individuals  of  whom  must  be  singularly 
unfortunate,  if,  mixing  as  we  do,  no  drop  of  gentle 
blood  has  contributed  to  refine  the  turbid  element,  no 
gleam  of  hereditary  intelligence  has  lighted  up  the 
stolid  eyes,  which  their  forefathers  brought  from  the 
Old  Country.  Even  in  this  English  almshouse,  how- 
ever, there  was  at  least  one  person  who  claimed  to  be 
intimately  connected  with  rank  and  wealth.  The  gov- 
ernor, after  suggesting  that  this  person  would  probably 
be  gratified  by  our  visit,  ushered  us  into  a small  par- 
lor, which  was  furnished  a little  more  like  a room  in  a 
private  dwelling  than  others  that  we  entered,  and  had 
a’  row  of  religious  books  and  fashionable  novels  on  the 
mantel  - piece.  An  old  lady  sat  at  a bright  coal-fire, 
reading  a romance,  and  rose  to  receive  us  with  a cer- 
tain pomp  of  manner  and  elaborate  display  of  cere- 
monious courtesy,  which,  in  spite  of  myself,  made  me 
inwardly  question  the  genuineness  of  her  aristocratic 


348  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 

pretensions.  But,  at  any  rate,  she  looked  like  a re^ 
spectable  old  soul,  and  was  evidently  gladdened  to  the 
very  core  of  her  frost-bitten  heart  by  the  awful  punc- 
tiliousness with  which  we  responded  to  her  gracious 
and  hospitable,  though  unfamiliar  welcome.  After  a 
little  polite  conversation,  we  retired  ; and  the  governor^ 
with  a lowered  voice  and  an  air  of  deference,  told  us 
that  she  had  been  a lady  of  quality,  and  had  ridden  in 
her  own  equipage,  not  many  years  before,  and  now 
lived  in  continual  expectation  that  some  of  her  rich 
relatives  would  drive  up  in  their  carriages  to  take  her 
away.  Meanwhile,  he  added,  she  was  treated  with 
great  respect  by  her  fellow-paupers.  I could  not  help 
thinking,  from  a few  criticisable  peculiarities  in  her 
talk  and  manner,  that  there  might  have  been  a mistake 
on  the  governor’s  part,  and  perhaps  a venial  exaggera- 
tion on  the  old  lady’s,  concerning  her  former  position 
in  society;  but  what  struck  me  was  the  forcible  in- 
stance of  that  most  prevalent  of  English  vanities,  the 
pretension  to  aristocratic  connection,  on  one  side,  and 
the  submission  and  reverence  with  which  it  was  ac- 
cepted by  the  governor  and  his  household,  on  the 
other.  Among  ourselves,  I think,  when  wealth  and 
eminent  position  have  taken  their  departure,  they  sel- 
dom leave  a pallid  ghost  behind  them,  — or,  if  it 
sometimes  stalks  abroad,  few  recognize  it. 

We  went  into  several  other  rooms,  at  the  doors  of 
which,  pausing  on  the  outside,  we  could  hear  the  voh 
ubility,  and  sometimes  the  wrangling,  of  the  female 
inhabitants  within,  but  invariably  found  silence  and 
peace  when  we  stepped  over  the  threshold.  The 
women  were  grouped  together  in  their  sitting-rooms, 
sometimes  three  or  four,  sometimes  a larger  number, 
classified  by  their  spontaneous  affinities,  I suppose, 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  849 


and  all  busied,  so  far  as  I can  remember,  with  the  one 
occupation  of  knitting  coarse  yarn  stockings.  Hardly 
any  of  them,  I am  sorry  to  say,  had  a brisk  or  cheer- 
ful air,  though  it  often  stirred  them  up  to  a momen- 
tary vivacity  to  be  accosted  by  the  governor,  and  they 
seemed  to  like  being  noticed,  however  slightly,  by  the 
visitors.  The  happiest  person  whom  I saw  there  (and 
running  hastily  through  my  experiences,  I hardly  rec- 
ollect to  have  seen  a happier  one  in  my  life,  if  you 
take  a careless  flow  of  spirits  as  happiness)  was  an  old 
woman  that  lay  in  bed  among  ten  or  twelve  heavy- 
looking females,  who  plied  their  knitting-work  round 
about  her.  She  laughed,  when  we  entered,  and  imme- 
diately began  to  talk  to  us,  in  a thin,  little,  spirited 
quaver,  claiming  to  be  more  than  a century  old ; and 
the  governor  (in  whatever  way  he  happened  to  be  cog- 
nizant of  the  fact)  confirmed  her  age  to  be  a hundred 
and  four.  Her  jauntiness  and  cackling  merriment 
were  really  wonderful.  It  was  as  if  she  had  got 
through  with  all  her  actual  business  in  life  two  or 
three  generations  ago,  and  now,  freed  from  every  re- 
sponsibility for  herself  or  others,  had  only  to  keep  up 
a mirthful  state  of  mind  till  the  short  time,  or  long 
time  (and,  happy  as  she  was,  she  appeared  not  to  care 
whether  it  were  long  or  short),  before  Death,  who  had 
misplaced  her  name  in  his  list,  might  remember  to 
take  her  away.  She  had  gone  quite  round  the  circle 
of  human  existence,  and  come  back  to  the  play-ground 
again.  And  so  she  had  grown  to  be  a kind  of  mi- 
raculous old  pet,  the  plaything  of  people  seventy  or 
eighty  years  younger  than  herself,  who  talked  and 
laughed  with  her  as  if  she  were  a child,  finding  great 
delight  in  her  wayward  and  strangely  playful  re- 
sponses, into  some  of  which  she  cunningly  conveyed 


350  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


a gibe  that  caused  their  ears  to  tingle  a little.  She 
had  done  getting  out  of  bed  in  this  world,  and  lay 
there  to  be  waited  upon  like  a queen  or  a baby. 

In  the  same  room  sat  a pauper  who  had  once  been 
an  actress  of  considerable  repute,  but  was  compelled 
to  give  up  her  profession  by  a softening  of  the  brainc 
The  disease  seemed  to  have  stolen  the  continuity  out 
of  her  life,  and  disturbed  all  healthy  relationship  be- 
tween the  thoughts  within  her  and  the  world  without. 
On  our  first  entrance,  she  looked  cheerfully  at  us,  and 
showed  herself  ready  to  engage  in  conversation  ; but 
suddenly,  while  we  were  talking  with  the  century-old 
crone,  the  poor  actress  began  to  weep,  contorting  her 
face  with  extravagant  stage  - grimaces,  and  wringing 
her  hands  for  some  inscrutable  sorrow.  It  might  have 
been  a reminiscence  of  actual  calamity  in  her  past  life, 
or,  quite  as  probably,  it  was  but  a dramatic  woe,  be- 
neath which  she  had  staggered  and  shrieked  and 
wrung  her  hands  with  hundreds  of  repetitions  in  the 
sight  of  crowded  theatres,  and  been  as  often  comforted 
by  thunders  of  applause.  But  my  idea  of  the  mystery 
was,  that  she  had  a sense  of  wrong  in  seeing  the  aged 
woman  (whose  empty  vivacity  was  like  the  rattling  of 
dry  peas  in  a bladder)  chosen  as  the  central  object  of 
interest  to  the  visitors,  while  she  herself,  who  had  agi- 
tated thousands  of  hearts  with  a breath,  sat  starving 
for  the  admiration  that  was  her  natural  food.  I ap- 
peal to  the  whole  society  of  artists  of  the  Beautiful 
and  the  Imaginative,  — poets,  romancers,  painters, 
sculptors,  actors,  — whether  or  no  this  is  a grief  that 
may  be  felt  even  amid  the  torpor  of  a dissolving 
brain ! 

We  looked  into  a good  many  sleeping-chambers, 
where  were  rows  of  beds,  mostly  calculated  for  two  oc- 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  351 


cupants,  and  provided  with  sheets  and  pillow-cases 
that  resembled  sackcloth.  It  appeared  to  me  that  the 
sense  of  beauty  was  insufficiently  regarded  in  all  the 
arrangements  of  the  almshouse ; a little  cheap  luxury 
for  the  eye,  at  least,  might  do  the  poor  folks  a sub- 
stantial good.  But,  at  all  events,  there  was  the  beauty 
of  perfect  neatness  and  orderliness,  which,  being  here- 
tofore known  to  few  of  them,  was  perhaps  as  much  as 
they  could  well  digest  in  the  remnant  of  their  lives. 
We  were  invited  into  the  laundry,  where  a great 
washing  and  drying  were  in  process,  the  whole  atmos- 
phere being  hot  and  vaporous  with  the  steam  of  wet 
garments  and  bedclothes.  This  atmosphere  was  the 
pauper-life  of  the  past  week  or  fortnight  resolved  into 
a gaseous  state,  and  breathing  it,  however  fastidiously, 
we  were  forced  to  inhale  the  strange  element  into  our 
inmost  being.  Had  the  Queen  been  there,  I know  not 
how  she  could  have  escaped  the  necessity.  What  an 
intimate  brotherhood  is  this  in  which  we  dwell,  do 
what  we  may  to  put  an  artificial  remoteness  between 
the  high  creature  and  the  low  one  ! A poor  man’s 
breath,  borne  on  the  vehicle  of  tobacco-smoke,  floats 
into  a palace-window  and  reaches  the  nostrils  of  a 
monarch.  It  is  but  an  example,  obvious  to  the  sense, 
of  the  innumerable  and  secret  channels  by  which,  at 
every  moment  of  our  lives,  the  flow  and  reflux  of  a 
common  humanity  pervade  us  all.  How  superficial 
are  the  niceties  of  such  as  pretend  to  keep  aloof ! 
Let  the  whole  world  be  cleansed,  or  not  a man  or 
woman  of  us  all  can  be  clean. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  the  ward  where  the  children 
were  kept,  on  entering  which,  we  saw,  in  the  first 
place,  several  unlovely  and  unwholesome  little  people 
lazily  playing  together  in  a court-yard.  And  here  a 


352  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 

singular  incommodity  befell  one  member  of  our  party. 
Among  the  children  was  a wretched,  pale,  half-torpid 
little  thing  (about  six  years  old,  perhaps,  but  I know 
not  whether  a girl  or  a boy),  with  a humor  in  its  eyes- 
and  face,  which  the  governor  said  was  the  scurvy,  and 
which  appeared  to  bedim  its  powers  of  vision,  so  that 
it  toddled  about  gropingly,  as  if  in  quest  of  it  did 
not  precisely  know  what.  This  child  — this  sickly, 
wretched,  humor-eaten  infant,  the  offspring  of  un^ 
speakable  sin  and  sorrow,  whom  it  must  have  required 
several  generations  of  guilty  progenitors  to  render  so 
pitiable  an  object  as  we  beheld  it  — immediately  took 
an  unaccountable  fancy  to  the  gentleman  just  hinted 
at.  It  prowled  about  him  like  a pet  kitten,  rubbing 
against  his  legs,  following  everywhere  at  his  heels, 
pulling  at  his  coat-tails,  and,  at  last,  exerting  all  the 
speed  that  its  poor  limbs  were  capable  of,  got  directly 
before  him  and  held  forth  its  arms,  mutely  insisting 
on  being  taken  up.  It  said  not  a word,  being  perhaps 
under-witted  and  incapable  of  prattle.  But  it  smiled 
up  in  his  face,  — a sort  of  woful  gleam  was  that  smile, 
through  the  sickly  blotches  that  covered  its  features, 
— and  found  means  to  express  such  a perfect  confi- 
dence that  it  was  going  to  be  fondled  and  made  much 
of,  that  there  was  no  possibility  in  a human  heart  of 
balking  its  expectation.  It  was  as  if  God  had  prom- 
ised the  poor  child  this  favor  on  behalf  of  that  individ- 
ual, and  he  was  bound  to  fulfil  the  contract,  or  else  no 
longer  call  himself  a man  among  men.  Nevertheless, 
it  could  be  no  easy  thing  for  him  to  do,  he  being  a 
person  burdened  with  more  than  an  Englishman’s  cus- 
tomary reserve,  shy  of  actual  contact  with  human  be^ 
ings,  afflicted  with  a peculiar  distaste  for  whatever  was 
ugly,  and,  furthermore,  accustomed  to  that  habit  of 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  - T ^^3  ^ 

/■^  ' ' 

observation  from  an  insulated  st^d-pOint  which  is  - 
said  (but,  I hope,  erroneously)  tq  have  tlfe  tendency  I 
of  putting  ice  into  the  blood.  \ 

So  I watched  the  struggle  in  his  mind  with  a good 
deal  of  interest,  and  am  seriously  of  opinion  tha^  he 
did  an  heroic  act,  and  effected  more  than  he  dreamed 
of  towards  his  final  salvation,  when  he  took  up  the 
loathsome  child  and  caressed  it  as  tenderly  as  if  he 
had  been  its  father.  To  be  sure,  we  all  smiled  at  him, 
at  the  time,  but  doubtless  would  have  acted  pretty 
much  the  same  in  a similar  stress  of  circumstances. 
The  child,  at  any  rate,  appeared  to  be  satisfied  with 
his  behavior ; for  when  he  had  held  it  a considerable 
time,  and  set  it  down,  it  still  favored  him  with  its 
company,  keeping  fast  hold  of  his  forefinger  till  we 
reached  the  confines  of  the  place.  And  on  our  return 
through  the  court-yard,  after  visiting  another  part  of 
the  establishment,  here  again  was  this  same  little 
Wretchedness  waiting  for  its  victim,  with  a smile  of 
joyful,  and  yet  dull  recognition  about  its  scabby  mouth 
and  in  its  rheumy  eyes.  No  doubt,  the  child’s  mission 
in  reference  to  our  friend  was  to  remind  him  that  he 
was  responsible,  in  his  degree,  for  all  the  sufferings 
and  misdemeanors  of  the  world  in  which  he  lived,  and 
was  not  entitled  to  look  upon  a particle  of  its  dark  ca- 
lamity as  if  it  were  none  of  his  concern  : the  offspring 
of  a brother’s  iniquity  being  his  own  blood-relation, 
and  the  guilt,  likewise,  a burden  on  him,  unless  he  ex- 
piated it  by  better  deeds. 

All  the  children  in  this  ward  seemed  to  be  invalids, 
and,  going  up  stairs,  we  found  more  of  them  in  the 
same  or  a worse  condition  than  the  little  creature  just 
described,  with  their  mothers  (or  more  probably  other 
women,  for  the  infants  were  mostly  foundlings)  in  at^ 

vou  VII.  23 


354  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


tendance  as  nurses.  The  matron  of  the  ward,  a mid- 
dle-aged woman,  remarkably  kind  and  motherly  in  as- 
pect, was  walking  to  and  fro  across  the  chamber  — 
on  that  weary  journey  in  which  careful  mothers  and 
nurses  travel  so  continually  and  so  far,  and  gain  never 
a step  of  progress  — with  an  unquiet  baby  in  her 
arms.  She  assured  us  that  she  enjoyed  her  occupa* 
tion,  being  exceedingly  fond  of  children  ; and,  in  fact, 
the  absence  of  timidity  in  all  the  little  people  was  a 
sufficient  proof  that  they  could  have  had  no  experience 
of  harsh  treatment,  though,  on  the  other  hand,  none 
of  them  appeared  to  be  attracted  to  one  individual 
more  than  another.  In  this  point  they  differed  widely 
from  the  poor  child  below  stairs.  They  seemed  to  rec- 
ognize a universal  motherhood  in  womankind,  and 
cared  not  which  individual  might  be  the  mother  of  the 
moment.  I found  their  tameness  as  shocking  as  did 
Alexander  Selkirk  that  of  the  brute  subjects  of  his  else 
solitary  kingdom.  It  was  a sort  of  tame  familiarity, 
a perfect  indifference  to  the  approach  of  strangers, 
such  as  I never  noticed  in  other  children.  I accounted 
for  it  partly  by  their  nerveless,  unstrung  state  of  body, 
incapable  of  the  quick  thrills  of  delight  and  fear  which 
play  upon  the  lively  harp-strings  of  a healthy  child’s 
nature,  and  partly  by  their  woful  lack  of  acquaintance 
with  a private  home,  and  their  being  therefore  desti- 
tute of  the  sweet  home-bred  shyness,  which  is  like  the 
sanctity  of  heaven  about  a mother-petted  child.  Their 
condition  was  like  that  of  chickens  hatched  in  an  oven, 
and  growing  up  without  the  especial  guardianship  of 
a matron  hen : both  the  chicken  and  the  child,  me- 
thinks,  must  needs  want  something  that  is  essential  to 
their  respective  characters. 

In  this  chamber  (which  was  spacious,  containing  a 


GTAMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  355 


large  number  of  beds)  there  was  a clear  fire  burning 
on  the  hearth,  as  in  all  the  other  occupied  rooms  ; and 
directly  in  front  of  the  blaze  sat  a woman  holding  a 
baby,  which,  beyond  all  reach  of  comparison,  was  the 
most  horrible  object  that  ever  afflicted  my  sight.  Days 
afterwards  — nay,  even  now,  when  I bring  it  up  viv^ 
idly  before  my  mind’s  eye  — it  seemed  to  lie  upon  the 
floor  of  my  heart,  polluting  my  moral  being  with  the 
sense  of  something  grievously  amiss  in  the  entire  con- 
ditions of  humanity.  The  holiest  man  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  full  of  wickedness,  the  chastest  virgin 
seemed  impure,  in  a world  where  such  a babe  was  pos^ 
sible.  The  governor  whispered  me,  apart,  that,  like 
nearly  all  the  rest  of  them,  it  was  the  child  of  un- 
healthy parents.  Ah,  yes ! There  was  the  mischief. 
This  spectral  infant,  a hideous  mockery  of  the  visible 
link  which  Love  creates  between  man  and  woman,  was 
born  of  disease  and  sin.  Diseased  Sin  was  its  father, 
and  Sinful  Disease  its  mother,  and  their  offspring  lay 
in  the  woman’s  arms  like  a nursing  Pestilence,  which, 
could  it  live  and  grow  up,  would  make  the  world  a 
more  accursed  abode  than  ever  heretofore.  Thank 
Heaven,  it  could  not  live ! This  baby,  if  we  must  give 
it  that  sweet  name,  seemed  to  be  three  or  four  months 
old,  but,  being  such  an  unthrifty  changeling,  might 
have  been  considerably  older.  It  was  all  covered  with 
blotches,  and  preternaturally  dark  and  discolored ; it 
was  withered  away,  quite  shrunken  and  fleshless ; it 
breathed  only  amid  pan  tings  and  gaspings,  and  moaned 
painfully  at  every  gasp.  The  only  comfort  in  refer- 
ence to  it  was  the  evident  impossibility  of  its  surviv- 
ing to  draw  many  more  of  those  miserable,  moaning 
breaths ; and  it  would  have  been  infinitely  less  heart- 
depressing to  see  it  die,  right  before  my  eyes,  than  to 


356  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 


depart  and  carry  it  alive  in  my  remembrance,  still  suf- 
fering the  incalculable  torture  of  its  little  life.  I can 
by  no  means  express  how  horrible  this  infant  was, 
neither  ought  I to  attempt  it.  And  yet  I must  add 
one  final  touch.  Young  as  the  poor  little  creature 
was,  its  pain  and  misery  had  endowed  it  with  a pre^ 
mature  intelligence,  insomuch  that  its  eyes  seemed  to 
stare  at  the  by-standers  out  of  their  sunken  sockets 
knowingly  and  appealingly,  as  if  summoning  us  one 
and  all  to  witness  the  deadly  wrong  of  its  existence. 
At  least,  I so  interpreted  its  look,  when  it  positively 
met  and  responded  to  my  own  awe-stricken  gaze,  and 
therefore  I lay  the  case,  as  far  as  I am  able,  before 
mankind,  on  whom  God  has  imposed  the  necessity  to 
suffer  in  soul  and  body  till  this  dark  and  dreadful 
wrong  be  righted. 

Thence  we  went  to  the  school-rooms,  which  were  un- 
derneath the  chapel.  The  pupils,  like  the  children 
whom  we  had  just  seen,  were,  in  large  proportion, 
foundlings.  Almost  without  exception,  they  looked 
sickly,  with  marks  of  eruptive  trouble  in  their  doltish 
faces,  and  a general  tendency  to  diseases  of  the  eye. 
Moreover,  the  poor  little  wretches  appeared  to  be  un- 
easy within  their  skins,  and  screwed  themselves  about 
on  the  benches  in  a disagreeably  suggestive  way,  as  if 
they  had  inherited  the  evil  habits  of  their  parents  as 
an  innermost  garment  of  the  same  texture  and  mate- 
rial as  the  shirt  of  Nessus,  and  must  wear  it  with  un- 
speakable discomfort  as  long  as  they  lived.  I saw  only 
a single  child  that  looked  healthy ; and  on  my  point- 
ing him  out,  the  governor  informed  me  that  this  little 
boy,  the  sole  exception  to  the  miserable  aspect  of  his 
Bchool-fellows,  was  not  a foundling,  nor  properly  a 
work-house  child,  being  born  of  respectable  parentage, 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  357 


and  his  father  one  of  the  officers  of  the  institution. 
As  for  the  remainder,  — the  hundred  pale  abortions 
to  be  counted  against  one  rosy-cheeked  boy,  — what 
shall  we  say  or  do?  Depressed  by  the  sight  of  so 
much  misery,  and  uninventive  of  remedies  for  the  evils 
that  force  themselves  on  my  perception,  I can  do  little 
more  than  recur  to  the  idea  already  hinted  at  in  the 
early  part  of  this  article,  regarding  the  speedy  neces- 
sity of  a new  deluge.  So  far  as  these  children  are 
concerned,  at  any  rate,  it  would  be  a blessing  to  the 
human  race,  which  they  will  contribute  to  enervate 
and  corrupt,  — a greater  blessing  to  themselves,  who 
inherit  no  patrimony  but  disease  and  vice,  and  in 
whose  souls,  if  there  be  a spark  of  God’s  life,  this 
seems  the  only  possible  mode  of  keeping  it  aglow,  — 
if  every  one  of  them  could  be  drowned  to-night,  by 
their  best  friends,  instead  of  being  put  tenderly  to  bed. 
This  heroic  method  of  treating  human  maladies,  moral 
and  material,  is  certainly  beyond  the  scope  of  man’s 
discretionary  rights,  and  probably  will  not  be  adopted 
by  Divine  Providence  until  the  opportunity  of  milder 
reformation  shall  have  been  offered  us  again  and 
again,  through  a series  of  future  ages. 

It  may  be  fair  to  acknowledge  that  the  humane  and 
excellent  governor,  as  well  as  other  persons  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  subject  than  myself,  took  a less 
gloomy  view  of  it,  though  still  so  dark  a one  as  to  in- 
volve scanty  consolation.  They  remarked  that  indi- 
viduals of  the  male  sex,  picked  up  in  the  streets  and 
nurtured  in  the  work-house,  sometimes  succeed  toler- 
ably well  in  life,  because  they  are  taught  trades  before 
being  turned  into  the  world,  and,  by  dint  of  immacu- 
late behavior  and  good  luck,  are  not  unlikely  to  get 
employment  and  earn  a livelihood.  The  case  is  differ- 


358  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 


ent  with  the  girls.  They  can  only  go  to  service,  and 
are  invariably  rejected  by  families  of  respectability 
on  account  of  their  origin,  and  for  the  better  reason 
of  their  unfitness  to  fill  satisfactorily  even  the  meanest 
situations  in  a well-ordered  English  household.  Their 
resource  is  to  take  service  with  people  only  a step  or 
two  above  the  poorest  class,  with  whom  they  fare  scam 
tily,  endure  harsh  treatment,  lead  shifting  and  preca- 
rious lives,  and  finally  drop  into  the  slough  of  evil, 
through  which,  in  their  best  estate,  they  do  but  pick 
their  slimy  way  on  stepping-stones. 

From  the  schools  we  went  to  the  bake-house,  and 
the  brew-house  (for  such  cruelty  is  not  harbored  in 
the  heart  of  a true  Englishman  as  to  deny  a pauper 
his  daily  allowance  of  beer),  and  through  the  kitchens, 
where  we  beheld  an  immense  pot  over  the  fire,  surg- 
ing and  walloping  with  some  kind  of  a savory  stew 
that  filled  it  up  to  its  brim.  W e also  visited  a tailor’s 
shop,  and  a shoemaker’s  shop,  in  both  of  which  a num- 
ber of  men,  and  pale,  diminutive  apprentices,  were  at 
work,  diligently  enough,  though  seemingly  with  small 
heart  in  the  business.  Finally,  the  governor  ushered 
us  into  a shed,  inside  of  which  was  piled  up  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  new  coffins.  They  were  of  the 
plainest  description,  made  of  pine  boards,  probably 
of  American  growth,  not  very  nicely  smoothed  by  the 
plane,  neither  painted  nor  stained  with  black,  but  pro- 
vided with  a loop  of  rope  at  either  end  for  the  conven- 
ience of  lifting  the  rude  box  and  its  inmate  into  the 
cart  that  shall  carry  them  to  the  burial-ground.  There, 
in  holes  ten  feet  deep,  the  paupers  are  buried  one 
above  another,  mingling  their  relics  indistinguishably. 
In  another  world  may  they  resume  their  individuality, 
and  find  it  a happier  one  than  here ! 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  359 


As  we  departed,  a character  came  under  our  notice 
which  I have  met  with  in  all  almshouses,  whether  of 
the  city  or  village,  or  in  England  or  America,  It  was 
the  familiar  simpleton,  who  shuffled  across  the  court 
yard,  clattering  his  wooden-soled  shoes,  to  greet  us 
with  a howl  or  a laugh,  I hardly  know  which,  holding 
out  his  hand  for  a penny,  and  chuckling  grossly  when 
it  was  given  him.  All  under-witted  persons,  so  far  as 
my  experience  goes,  have  this  craving  for  copper  coin, 
and  appear  to  estimate  its  value  by  a miraculous  in- 
stinct, which  is  one  of  the  earliest  gleams  of  human 
intelligence  while  the  nobler  faculties  are  yet  in  abey- 
ance. There  may  come  a time,  even  in  this  world, 
when  we  shall  all  understand  that  our  tendency  to  the 
individual  appropriation  of  gold  and  broad  acres,  fine 
houses,  and  such  good  and  beautiful  things  as  are 
equally  enjoyable  by  a multitude,  is  but  a trait  of  im- 
perfectly developed  intelligence,  like  the  simpleton’s 
cupidity  of  a penny.  When  that  day  dawns,  — and 
probably  not  till  then,  — I imagine  that  there  will  be 
no  more  poor  streets  nor  need  of  almshouses. 

I was  once  present  at  the  wedding  of  some  poor 
English  people,  and  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  spec- 
tacle, though  by  no  means  with  such  proud  and  de- 
lightful emotions  as  seem  to  have  affected  all  Eng- 
land on  the  recent  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  its 
Prince.  It  was  in  the  Cathedral  at  Manchester,  a 
particularly  black  and  grim  old  structure,  into  which 
I had  stepped  to  examine  some  ancient  and  curious 
wood-carvings  within  the  choir.  The  woman  in  attend- 
ance greeted  me  with  a smile  (which  always  glimmers 
forth  on  the  feminine  visage,  I know  not  why,  when 
a wedding  is  in  question),  and  asked  me  to  take  a 
seat  in  the  nave  till  some  poor  parties  were  married. 


360  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY. 


it  being  the  Easter  holidays,  and  a good  time  for  them 
to  marry,  because  no  fees  would  be  demanded  by  the 
clergyman.  I sat  down  accordingly,  and  soon  the 
parson  and  his  clerk  appeared  at  the  altar,  and  a con- 
siderable crowd  of  people  made  their  entrance  at  a 
side-door,  and  ranged  themselves  in  a long,  huddled 
line  across  the  chancel.  They  were  my  acquaintances 
of  the  poor  streets,  or  persons  in  a precisely  similar 
condition  of  life,  and  were  now  come  to  their  marriage 
ceremony  in  just  such  garbs  as  I had  always  seen  them 
wear : the  men  in  their  loafer’s  coats,  out  at  elbows, 
or  their  laborers’  jackets,  defaced  with  grimy  toil ; the 
women  drawing  their  shabby  shawls  tighter  about 
their  shoulders,  to  hide  the  raggedness  beneath  ; all 
of  them  unbrushed,  unshaven,  unwashed,  uncombed, 
and  wrinkled  with  penury  and  care  ; nothing  virgin- 
like in  the  brides,  nor  hopeful  or  energetic  in  the 
bridegrooms  ; — they  were,  in  short,  the  mere  rags 
and  tatters  of  the  human  race,  whom  some  east-wind 
of  evil  omen,  howling  along  the  streets,  had  chanced 
to  sweep  together  into  an  unfragrant  heap.  Each  and 
all  of  them,  conscious  of  his  or  her  individual  misery, 
had  blundered  into  the  strange  miscalculation  of  sup- 
posing that  they  could  lessen  the  sum  of  it  by  multi- 
plying it  into  the  misery  of  another  person.  All  the 
couples  (and  it  was  difficult,  in  such  a confused  crowd, 
to  compute  exactly  their  number)  stood  up  at  once, 
and  had  execution  done  upon  them  in  the  lump,  the 
clergyman  addressing  only  small  parts  of  the  service 
to  each  individual  pair,  but  so  managing  the  larger 
portion  as  to  include  the  whole  company  without  the 
trouble  of  repetition.  By  this  compendious  contrivance, 
one  would  apprehend,  he  came  dangerously  near  mak- 
ing every  man  and  woman  the  husband  or  wife  of 


GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY.  361 


every  other  ; nor,  perhaps,  would  he  have  perpetrated 
much  additional  mischief  by  the  mistake ; but,  after  re- 
ceiving a benediction  in  common,  they  assorted  them- 
selves in  their  own  fashion,  as  they  only  knew  how, 
and  departed  to  the  garrets,  or  the  cellars,  or  the  un- 
sheltered street-corners,  where  their  honeymoon  and 
subsequent  lives  were  to  be  spent.  The  parson  smiled 
decorously,  the  clerk  and  the  sexton  grinned  broadly^ 
the  female  attendant  tittered  almost  aloud,  and  even 
the  married  parties  seemed  to  see  something  exceed- 
ingly funny  in  the  affair ; but  for  my  part,  though 
generally  apt  enough  to  be  tickled  by  a joke,  I laid 
it  away  in  my  memory  as  one  of  the  saddest  sights  I 
ever  looked  upon. 

Not  very  long  afterwards,  I happened  to  be  passing 
the  same  venerable  Cathedral,  and  heard  a clang  of 
joyful  bells,  and  beheld  a bridal  party  coming  down 
the  steps  towards  a carriage  and  four  horses,  with  a 
portly  coachman  and  two  postilions,  that  waited  at  the 
gate.  One  parson  and  one  service  had  amalgamated 
the  wretchedness  of  a score  of  paupers  ; a Bishop  and 
three  or  four  clergymen  had  combined  their  spiritual 
might  to  forge  the  golden  links  of  this  other  marriage- 
bond.  The  bridegroom’s  mien  had  a sort  of  careless 
and  kindly  English  pride  ; the  bride  floated  along  in 
her  white  drapery,  a creature  so  nice  and  delicate 
that  it  was  a luxury  to  see  her,  and  a pity  that  her 
silk  slippers  should  touch  anything  so  grimy  as  the  old 
stones  of  the  churchyard  avenue.  The  crowd  of  ragged 
people,  who  always  cluster  to  witness  what  they  may 
of  an  aristocratic  wedding,  broke  into  audible  admira- 
tion of  the  bride’s  beauty  and  the  bridegroom’s  man- 
liness, and  uttered  prayers  and  ejaculations  (possibly 
paid  for  in  alms)  for  the  happiness  of  both.  If  the 


362  GLIMPSES  OF  ENGLISH  POVERTY, 


most  favorable  of  earthly  conditions  could  make  them 
happy,  they  had  every  prospect  of  it.  They  were  go- 
ing to  live  on  their  abundance  in  one  of  those  stately 
and  delightful  English  homes,  such  as  no  other  people 
ever  created  or  inherited,  a hall  set  far  and  safe  within 
its  own  private  grounds,  and  surrounded  with  venen 
able  trees,  shaven  lawns,  rich  shrubbery,  and  trimmest 
pathways,  the  whole  so  artfully  contrived  and  tended 
that  summer  rendered  it  a paradise,  and  even  winter 
would  hardly  disrobe  it  of  its  beauty  ; and  all  this 
fair  property  seemed  more  exclusively  and  inalienably 
their  own,  because  of  its  descent  through  many  fore- 
fathers, each  of  whom  had  added  an  improvement  or 
a charm,  and  thus  transmitted  it  with  a stronger 
stamp  of  rightful  possession  to  his  heir.  And  is  it 
possible,  after  all,  that  there  may  be  a flaw  in  the  title- 
deeds?  Is,  or  is  not,  the  system  wrong  that  gives  one 
married  pair  so  immense  a superfluity  of  luxurious 
home,  and  shuts  out  a million  others  from  any  home 
whatever?  One  day  or  another,  safe  as  they  deem 
themselves,  and  safe  as  the  hereditary  temper  of  the 
people  really  tends  to  make  them,  the  gentlemen  of 
England  will  be  compelled  to  face  this  question. 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


It  has  often  perplexed  me  to  imagine  how  an  Eng- 
lishman will  be  able  to  reconcile  himself  to  any  future 
state  of  existence  from  which  the  earthly  institution  of 
dinner  shall  be  excluded.  Even  if  he  fail  to  take  his 
appetite  along  with  him  (which  it  seems  to  me  hardly 
possible  to  believe,  since  this  endowment  is  so  essential 
to  his  composition),  the  immortal  day  must  still  admit 
an  interim  of  two  or  three  hours  during  which  he  will 
be  conscious  of  a slight  distaste,  at  all  events,  if  not 
an  absolute  repugnance,  to  merely  spiritual  nutriment. 
The  idea  of  dinner  has  so  imbedded  itself  among  his 
highest  and  deepest  characteristics,  so  illuminated  it- 
self with  intellect  and  softened  itself  with  the  kindest 
emotions  of  his  heart,  so  linked  itself  with  Church  and 
State,  and  grown  so  majestic  with  long  hereditary  cus- 
toms and  ceremonies,  that,  by  taking  it  utterly  away, 
Death,  instead  of  putting  the  final  touch  to  his  per- 
fection, would  leave  him  infinitely  less  complete  than 
we  have  already  known  him.  He  could  not  be  roundly 
happy.  Paradise,  among  all  its  enjoyments,  would 
lack  one  daily  felicity  which  his  sombre  little  island 
possessed.  Perhaps  it  is  not  irreverent  to  conjecture 
that  a provision  may  have  been  made,  in  this  partic- 
ular, for  the  Englishman’s  exceptional  necessities.  It 
strikes  me  that  Milton  was  of  the  opinion  here  sug- 
gested, and  may  have  intended  to  throw  out  a delight- 
ful and  consolatory  hope  for  his  countrymen,  when  he 
represents  the  genial  archangel  as  playing  his  part 


364 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


with  such  excellent  appetite  at  Adam’s  dinner-table, 
and  confining  himself  to  fruit  and  vegetables  only  be- 
cause, in  those  early  days  of  her  housekeeping,  Eve 
had  no  more  acceptable  viands  to  set  before  him. 
Milton,  indeed,  had  a true  English  taste  for  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  table,  though  refined  by  the  lofty  and 
poetic  discipline  to  which  he  had  subjected  himself. 
It  is  delicately  implied  in  the  refection  in  Paradise, 
and  more  substantially,  though  still  elegantly,  betrayed 
in  the  sonnet  proposing  to  “ Laurence,  of  virtuous  fa- 
ther virtuous  son,”  a series  of  nice  little  dinners  in 
midwinter  ; and  it  blazes  fully  out  in  that  untasted 
banquet  which,  elaborate  as  it  was,  Satan  tossed  up  in 
a trice  from  the  kitchen-ranges  of  Tartarus. 

Among  this  people,  indeed,  so  wise  in  their  genera- 
tion, dinner  has  a kind  of  sanctity  quite  independent 
of  the  dishes  that  may  be  set  upon  the  table ; so  that, 
if  it  be  only  a mutton-chop,  they  treat  it  with  due  rev- 
erence, and  are  rewarded  with  a degree  of  enjoyment 
which  such  reckless  devourers  as  ourselves  do  not 
often  find  in  our  richest  abundance.  It  is  good  to  see 
how  stanch  they  are  after  fifty  or  sixty  years  of  heroic 
eating,  still  relying  upon  their  digestive  powers  and 
indulging  a vigorous  appetite ; whereas  an  American 
has  generally  lost  the  one  and  learned  to  distrust  the 
other  long  before  reaching  the  earliest  decline  of  life  ; 
and  thenceforward  he  makes  little  account  of  his  din- 
ner, and  dines  at  his  peril,  if  at  all.  I know  not 
whether  my  countrymen  will  allow  me  to  tell  them, 
though  I think  it  scarcely  too  much  to  affirm,  that  on 
this  side  of  the  water,  people  never  dine.  At  any 
rate,  abundantly  as  Nature  has  provided  us  with  most 
of  the  material  requisites,  the  highest  possible  dinnei 
has  never  yet  been  eaten  in  America.  It  is  the  con- 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


365 


summate  flower  of  civilization  and  refinement ; and 
our  inability  to  produce  it,  or  to  appreciate  its  admi- 
rable beauty  if  a happy  inspiration  should  bring  it  into 
bloom,  marks  fatally  the  limit  of  culture  which  we 
have  attained. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  mob  of 
cultivated  Englishmen  know  how  to  dine  in  this  ele- 
vated sense.  The  unpolishable  ruggedness  of  the 
national  character  is  still  an  impediment  to  them, 
even  in  that  particular  line  where  they  are  best  qual- 
ified to  excel.  Though  often  present  at  good  men’s 
feasts,  I remember  only  a single  dinner,  which,  while 
lamentably  conscious  that  many  of  its  higher  excel- 
lences were  thrown  away  upon  me,  I yet  could  feel  to 
be  a perfect  work  of  art.  It  could  not,  without  un- 
pardonable coarseness,  be  styled  a matter  of  animal 
enjoyment,  because,  out  of  the  very  perfection  of  that 
lower  bliss,  there  had  arisen  a dream-like  development 
of  spiritual  happiness.  As  in  the  masterpieces  of 
painting  and  poetry,  there  was  a something  intan- 
gible, a final  deliciousness  that  only  fluttered  about 
your  comprehension,  vanishing  whenever  you  tried  to 
detain  it,  and  compelling  you  to  recognize  it  by  faith 
rather  than  sense.  It  seemed  as  if  a diviner  set  of 
senses  were  requisite,  and  had  been  partly  supplied, 
for  the  special  fruition  of  this  banquet,  and  that  the 
guests  around  the  table  (only  eight  in  number)  were 
becoming  so  educated,  polished,  and  softened,  by  the 
delicate  influences  of  what  they  ate  and  drank,  as  to 
be  now  a little  more  than  mortal  for  the  nonce.  And 
there  was  that  gentle,  delicious  sadness,  too,  which  we 
find  in  the  very  summit  of  our  most  exquisite  enjoy- 
ments, and  feel  it  a charm  beyond  all  the  gayety 
through  which  it  keeps  breathing  its  undertone.  In 


366 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


the  present  case,  it  was  worth  a heavier  sigh  to  reflect 
that  such  a festal  achievement  — the  production  of  so 
much  art,  skill,  fancy,  invention,  and  perfect  taste,  — 
the  growth  of  all  the  ages,  which  appeared  to  have 
been  ripening  for  this  hour,  since  man  first  began  to 
eat  and  to  moisten  his  food  with  wine  — must  lavish 
its  happiness  upon  so  brief  a moment,  when  other 
beautiful  things  can  be  made  a joy  forever.  Yet  a 
dinner  like  this  is  no  better  than  we  can  get,  any  day, 
at  the  rejuvenescent  Cornhill  Coffee-House,  unless  the 
whole  man,  with  soul,  intellect,  and  stomach,  is  ready 
to  appreciate  it,  and  unless,  moreover,  there  is  such  a 
harmony  in  all  the  circumstances  and  accompaniments, 
and  especially  such  a pitch  of  well-according  minds, 
that  nothing  shall  jar  rudely  against  the  guest’s  thor- 
oughly awakened  sensibilities.  The  world,  and  espe- 
cially our  part  of  it,  being  the  rough,  ill-assorted,  and 
tumultuous  place  we  find  it,  a beefsteak  is  about  as 
good  as  any  other  dinner. 

The  foregoing  reminiscence,  however,  has  drawn  me 
aside  from  the  main  object  of  my  sketch,  in  which 
I purposed  to  give  a slight  idea  of  those  public,  or 
partially  public  banquets,  the  custom  of  which  so 
thoroughly  prevails  among  the  English  people,  that 
nothing  is  ever  decided  upon,  in  matters  of  peace  and 
war,  until  they  have  chewed  upon  it  in  the  shape  of 
roast-beef,  and  talked  it  fully  over  in  their  cups.  Nor 
are  these  festivities  merely  occasional,  but  of  stated 
recurrence  in  all  considerable  municipalities  and  as- 
sociated bodies.  The  most  ancient  times  appear  to 
have  been  as  familiar  with  them  as  the  Englishmen 
of  to-day.  In  many  of  the  old  English  towns,  you 
find  some  stately  Gothic  hall  or  chamber  in  which  the 
Mayor  and  other  authorities  of  the  place  have  long 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


867 


held  their  sessions  ; and  always,  in  convenient  conti- 
guity, there  is  a dusky  kitchen,  with  an  immense  fire- 
place where  an  ox  might  lie  roasting  at  his  ease,  though 
the  less  gigantic  scale  of  modern  cookery  may  now  have 
permitted  the  cobwebs  to  gather  in  its  chimney.  St, 
Mary’s  Hall,  in  Coventry,  is  so  good  a specimen  of  an 
ancient  banqueting-room,  that  perhaps  I may  profita° 
bly  devote  a page  or  two  to  the  description  of  it. 

In  a narrow  street,  opposite  to  St.  Michael’s  Churchy 
one  of  the  three  famous  spires  of  Coventry,  you  behold 
a mediseval  edifice,  in  the  basement  of  which  is  such  a 
venerable  and  now  deserted  kitchen  as  I have  above 
alluded  to,  and,  on  the  same  level,  a cellar,  with  low 
stone  pillars  and  intersecting  arches,  like  the  crypt  of 
a cathedral.  Passing  up  a well-worn  staircase,  the 
oaken  balustrade  of  which  is  as  black  as  ebony,  you 
enter  the  fine  old  hall,  some  sixty  feet  in  length,  and 
broad  and  lofty  in  proportion.  It  is  lighted  by  six 
windows  of  modern  stained  glass,  on  one  side,  and  by 
the  immense  and  magnificent  arch  of  another  window 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  its  rich  and  ancient 
panes  constituting  a genuine  historical  piece,  in  which 
are  represented  some  of  the  kingly  personages  of  old 
times,  with  their  heraldic  blazonries.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  colored  light  thus  thrown  into  the  hall,  and 
though  it  was  noonday  when  I last  saw  it,  the  panel- 
ling of  black-oak,  and  some  faded  tapestry  that  hung 
round  the  walls,  together  with  the  cloudy  vault  of  the 
roof  above,  made  a gloom,  which  the  richness  only 
illuminated  into  more  appreciable  effect.  The  tap- 
estry is  wrought  with  figures  in  the  dress  of  Henry 
VI. ’s  time  (which  is  the  date  of  the  hall),  and  is  re- 
garded by  antiquaries  as  authentic  evidence  both  for 
the  costume  of  that  epoch,  and,  I believe,  for  the  act- 


368 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


ual  portraiture  of  men  known  in  history.  They  are 
as  colorless  as  ghosts,  however,  and  vanish  drearily 
into  the  old  stitch-work  of  their  substance  when  you 
try  to  make  them  out.  Coats  of  arms  were  formerly 
emblazoned  all  roimd  the  hall,  but  have  been  almost 
rubbed  out  by  people  hanging  their  overcoats  against 
them,  or  by  women  with  dishclouts  and  scrubbing- 
brushes,  obliterating  hereditary  glories  in  their  blind 
hostility  to  dust  and  spiders’  webs.  Full-length  por- 
traits of  several  English  kings,  Charles  II.  being  the 
earliest,  hang  on  the  walls ; and  on  the  dais,  or  ele- 
vated part  of  the  floor,  stands  an  antique  chair  of 
state,  which  several  royal  characters  are  traditionally 
said  to  havo  occupied  while  feasting  here  with  their 
loyal  subjects  of  Coventry.  It  is  roomy  enough  for  a 
person  of  kingly  bulk,  or  even  two  such,  but  angular 
and  uncomfortable,  reminding  me  of  the  oaken  settles 
which  used  to  be  seen  in  old-fashioned  New  England 
kitchens. 

Overhead,  supported  by  a self-sustaining  power, 
without  the  aid  of  a single  pillar,  is  the  original  ceil- 
ing of  oak,  precisely  similar  in  shape  to  the  roof  of  a 
barn,  with  all  the  beams  and  rafters  plainly  to  be  seen. 
At  the  remote  height  of  sixty  feet,  you  hardly  discern 
that  they  are  carved  with  figures  of  angels,  and  doubt- 
less many  other  devices,  of  which  the  admirable  Gothic 
art  is  wasted  in  the  duskiness  that  has  so  long  been 
brooding  there.  Over  the  entrance  of  the  hall,  oppo- 
site the  great  arched  window,  the  party-colored  radi- 
ance of  which  glimmers  faintly  through  the  interval, 
is  a gallery  for  minstrels ; and  a row  of  ancient  suits 
of  armor  is  suspended  from  its  balustrade.  It  im^ 
presses  me,  too  (for,  having  gone  so  far,  I woidd  fain 
leave  nothing  untouched  upon),  that  I remember, 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


369 


somewhere  about  these  venerable  precincts,  a picture 
of  the  Countess  Godiva  on  horseback,  in  which  the 
artist  has  been  so  niggardly  of  that  illustrious  lady’s 
hair,  that,  if  she  had  no  ampler  garniture,  there  was 
certainly  much  need  for  the  good  people  of  Coventry 
to  shut  their  eyes.  After  all  my  pains,  I fear  that  I 
have  made  but  a poor  hand  at  the  description,  as  re- 
gards a transference  of  the  scene  from  my  own  mind 
to  the  reader’s.  It  gave  me  a most  vivid  idea  of  an- 
tiquity that  had  been  very  little  tampered  with ; inso- 
much that,  if  a group  of  steel-clad  knights  had  come 
clanking  through  the  doorway,  and  a bearded  and 
beruffed  old  figure  had  handed  in  a stately  dame, 
rustling  in  gorgeous  robes  of  a long-forgotten  fashion, 
unveiling  a face  of  beauty  somewhat  tarnished  in  the 
mouldy  tomb,  yet  stepping  majestically  to  the  trill  of 
harp  and  viol  from  the  minstrels’  gallery,  while  the 
rusty  armor  responded  with  a hollow  ringing  sound 
beneath, — why,  I should  have  felt  that  these  shadows, 
once  so  familiar  with  the  spot,  had  a better  right  in 
St.  Mary’s  Hall  than  I,  a stranger  from  a far  country 
which  has  no  Past.  But  the  moral  of  the  foregoing 
description  is  to  show  how  tenaciously  this  love  of 
pompous  dinners,  this  reverence  for  dinner  as  a sacred 
institution,  has  caught  hold  of  the  English  character ; 
since,  from  the  earliest  recognizable  period,  we  find 
them  building  their  civic  banqueting-halls  as  magnifi- 
cently as  their  palaces  or  cathedrals. 

I know  not  whether  the  hall  just  described  is  now 
used  for  festive  purposes,  but  others  of  similar  antiq- 
uity and  splendor  still  are.  For  example,  there  is 
Barber-Surgeons’  Hall,  in  London,  a very  fine  old 
room,  adorned  with  admirably  carved  wood-work  on 
the  ceiling  and  walls.  It  is  also  enriched  with  Hoi- 

VOL.  VII.  24 


370 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


bein’s  masterpiece,  representing  a grave  assemblage  of 
barbers  and  surgeons,  all  portraits  (with  such  exten- 
sive beards  that  methinks  one  half  of  the  company 
might  have  been  profitably  occupied  in  trimming  the 
other),  kneeling  before  King  Henry  VIII.  Sir  Rob- 
ert Peel  is  said  to  have  offered  a thousand  pounds  for 
the  liberty  of  cutting  out  one  of  the  heads  from  this 
picture,  he  conditioning  to  have  a perfect  facsimile 
painted  in.  The  room  has  many  other  pictures  of  dis- 
tinguished members  of  the  company  in  long-past  times, 
and  of  some  of  the  monarchs  and  statesmen  of  Eng- 
land, all  darkened  with  age,  but  darkened  into  such 
ripe  magnificence  as  only  age  could  bestow.  It  is  not 
my  design  to  inflict  any  more  specimens  of  ancient 
hall-painting  on  the  reader ; but  it  may  be  worth  while 
to  touch  upon  other  modes  of  stateliness  that  still  sur- 
vive in  these  time-honored  civic  feasts,  where  there 
appears  to  be  a singular  assumption  of  dignity  and 
solemn  pomp  by  respectable  citizens  who  would  never 
dream  of  claiming  any  privilege  of  rank  outside  of 
their  own  sphere.  Thus,  I saw  two  caps  of  state  for 
the  warden  and  junior  warden  of  the  company,  caps 
of  silver  (real  coronets  or  crowns,  indeed,  for  these 
city-grandees)  wrought  in  open-work  and  lined  with 
crimson  velvet.  In  a strong-closet,  opening  from  the 
hall,  there  was  a great  deal  of  rich  plate  to  furnish 
forth  the  banquet-table,  comprising  hundreds  of  forks 
and  spoons,  a vast  silver  punch-bowl,  the  gift  of  some 
jolly  king  or  other,  and,  besides  a multitude  cf  less 
noticeable  vessels,  two  loving-cups,  very  elaborately 
wrought  in  silver  gilt,  one  presented  by  Henry  VIII., 
the  other  by  Charles  H.  These  cups,  including  the 
covers  and  pedestals,  are  very  large  and  weighty,  al- 
though the  bowl-part  would  hardly  contain  more  than 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


371 


fialf  a pint  of  wine,  which,  when  the  custom  was  first 
established,  each  guest  was  probably  expected  to  drink 
off  at  a draught.  In  passing  them  from  hand  to  hand 
adown  a long  table  of  compotators,  there  is  a peculiar 
ceremony  which  I may  hereafter  have  occasion  to  de° 
scribe.  Meanwhile,  if  I might  assume  such  a liberty.^ 
I should  be  glad  to  invite  the  reader  to  the  official 
dinner-table  of  his  Worship,  the  Mayor,  at  a large 
English  seaport  where  I spent  several  years. 

The  Mayor’s  dinner-parties  occur  as  often  as  once  a 
fortnight,  and,  inviting  his  guests  by  fifty  or  sixty  at 
a time,  his  Worship  probably  assembles  at  his  board 
most  of  the  eminent  citizens  and  distinguished  person- 
ages of  the  town  and  neighborhood  more  than  once 
during  his  year’s  incumbency,  and  very  much,  no 
doubt,  to  the  promotion  of  good  feeling  among  indi- 
viduals of  opposite  parties  and  diverse  pursuits  in  life. 
A miscellaneous  party  of  Englishmen  can  always  find 
more  comfortable  ground  to  meet  upon  than  as  many 
Americans,  their  differences  of  opinion  being  incom- 
parably less  radical  than  ours,  and  it  being  the  sincer- 
est*wish  of  all  their  hearts,  whether  they  call  them- 
selves Liberals  or  what  not,  that  nothing  in  this  world 
shall  ever  be  greatly  altered  from  what  it  has  been 
and  is.  Thus  there  is  seldom  such  a virulence  of 
political  hostility  that  it  may  not  be  dissolved  in  a 
glass  or  two  of  wine,  without  making  the  good  liquor 
any  more  dry  or  bitter  than  accords  with  English 
taste. 

The  first  dinner  of  this  kind  at  which  I had  the 
honor  to  be  present  took  place  during  assize-time,  and 
included  among  the  guests  the  judges  and  the  promi- 
nent members  of  the  bar.  Reaching  the  Town  Hall 
at  seven  o’clock,  I communicated  my  name  to  one  of 


372 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


several  splendidly  dressed  footmen,  and  he  repeated  it 
to  another  on  the  first  staircase,  by  whom  it  was  passed 
to  a third,  and  thence  to  a fourth  at  the  door  of  the 
reception-room,  losing  all  resemblance  to  the  original 
sound  in  the  course  of  these  transmissions ; so  that  1 
had  the  advantage  of  making  my  entrance  in  the  char« 
acter  of  a stranger,  not  only  to  the  whole  company, 
but  to  myself  as  well.  ^ His  W orship,  however,  kindly 
recognized  me,  and  put  me  on  speaking-terms  with 
two  or  three  gentlemen,  whom  I found  very  affable, 
and  all  the  more  hospitably  attentive  on  the  score  of 
my  nationality.  It  is  very  singular  how  kind  an  Eng- 
lishman will  almost  invariably  be  to  an  individual 
American,  without  ever  bating  a jot  of  his  prejudice 
against  the  American  character  in  the  lump.  My 
new  acquaintances  took  evident  pains  to  put  me  at  my 
ease  ; and,  in  requital  of  their  good-nature,  I soon  be- 
gan to  look  round  at  the  general  company  in  a critical 
spirit,  making  my  crude  observations  apart,  and  draw- 
ing silent  inferences,  of  the  correctness  of  which  I 
should  not  have  been  half  so  well  satisfied  a year 
afterwards  as  at  that  moment. 

There  were  two  judges  present,  a good  many  law- 
yers, and  a few  officers  of  the  army  in  uniform.  The 
other  guests  seemed  to  be  principally  of  the  mercan- 
tile class,  and  among  them  was  a ship-owner  from 
Nova  Scotia,  with  whom  I coalesced  a little,  inasmuch 
as  we  were  born  with  the  same  sky  over  our  heads, 
and  an  unbroken  continuity  of  soil  between  his  abode 
and  mine.  There  was  one  old  gentleman,  whose  char- 
acter I never  made  out,  with  powdered  hair,  clad  in 
black  breeches  and  silk  stockings,  and  wearing  a ra- 
pier at  his  side ; otherwise,  with  the  exception  of  the 
military  uniforms,  there  was  little  or  no  pretence  of 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


373 


official  costume.  It  being  the  first  considerable  as- 
semblage of  Englishmen  that  I had  seen,  my  honest 
impression  about  them  was,  that  they  were  a heavy 
and  homely  set  of  people,  with  a remarkable  rough- 
ness of  aspect  and  behavior,  not  repulsive,  but  beneath 
which  it  required  more  familiarity  with  the  national 
character  than  I then  possessed  always  to  detect  the 
good  breeding  of  a gentleman.  Being  generally  mid- 
dle-aged, or  still  further  advanced,  they  were  by  no 
means  graceful  in  figure ; for  the  comeliness  of  the 
youthful  Englishman  rapidly  diminishes  with  years, 
his  body  appearing  to  grow  longer,  his  legs  to  abbre- 
viate themselves,  and  his  stomach  to  assume  the  digni- 
fied prominence  which  justly  belongs  to  that  metrop- 
olis of  his  system.  His  face  (what  with  the  acridity 
of  the  atmosphere,  ale  at  lunch,  wine  at  dinner,  and  a 
well-digested  abundance  of  succulent  food)  gets  red 
and  mottled,  and  develops  at  least  one  additional  chin, 
with  a promise  of  more  ; so  that,  finally,  a stranger 
recognizes  his  animal  part  at  the  most  superficial 
glance,  but  must  take  time  and  a little  pains  to  dis- 
cover the  intellectual.  Comparing  him  with  an  Amer- 
ican, I really  thought  that  our  national  paleness  and 
lean  habit  of  flesh  gave  us  greatly  the  advantage  in 
an  aesthetic  point  of  view.  It  seemed  to  me,  more- 
over, that  the  English  tailor  had  not  done  so  much  as 
he  might  and  ought  for  these  heavy  figures,  but  had 
gone  on  wilfully  exaggerating  their  uncouthness  by 
the  roominess  of  their  garments  ; he  had  evidently  no 
idea  of  accuracy  of  fit,  and  smartness  was  entirely  out 
of  his  line.  But,  to  be  quite  open  with  the  reader,  I 
afterwards  learned  to  think  that  this  aforesaid  tailor 
has  a deeper  art  than  his  brethren  among  ourselves, 
knowing  how  to  dress  his  customers  with  such  individ- 


374 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


ual  propriety  that  they  look  as  if  they  were  born  in 
their  clothes,  the  fit  being  to  the  character  rather  than 
the  form.  If  you  make  an  Englishman  smart  (unless 
he  be  a very  exceptional  one,  of  whom  I have  seen 
a few),  you  make  him  a monster  ; his  best  aspect  is 
that  of  ponderous  respectability. 

To  make  an  end  of  these  first  impressions,  I fancied 
that  not  merely  the  Suffolk  bar,  but  the  bar  of  any 
inland  county  in  New  England,  might  show  a set  of 
thin  -visaged  men  looking  wretchedly  worn,  sallow, 
deeply  wrinkled  across  the  forehead,  and  grimly  fur- 
rowed about  the  mouth,  with  whom  these  heavy- 
cheeked English  lawyers,  slow-paced  and  fat-witted  as 
they  must  needs  be,  would  stand  very  little  chance  in  a 
professional  contest.  How  that  matter  might  turn  out, 
I am;  unqualified  to  decide.  But  I state  these  results 
of  my  earliest  glimpses  at  Englishmen,  not  for  what 
they  are  worth,  but  because  I ultimately  gave  them  up 
as  worth  little  or  nothing.  In  course  of  time,  I came 
to  the  conclusion  that  Englishmen  of  all  ages  are  a 
rather  good-looking  people,  dress  in  admirable  taste 
from  their  own  point  of  view,  and,  under  a surface 
never  silken  to  the  touch,  have  a refinement  of  man- 
ners too  thorough  and  genuine  to  be  thought  of  as  a 
separate  endowment, — that  is  to  say,  if  the  individual 
himself  be  a man  of  station,  and  has  had  gentlemen 
for  his  father  and  grandfather.  The  sturdy  Anglo- 
Saxon  nature  does  not  refine  itself  short  of  the  third 
generation.  The  tradesmen,  too,  and  all  other  classes, 
have  their  own  proprieties.  The  only  value  of  my  crit- 
icisms, therefore,  lay  in  their  exemplifying  the  prone- 
ness of  a traveller  to  measure  one  people  by  the  dis- 
tinctive characteristics  of  another,  — as  English  writ- 
ers invariably  measure  us,  and  take  upon  themselves 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


375 


to  be  disgusted  accordingly,  instead  of  trying  to  find 
out  some  principle  of  beauty  with  which  we  may  be 
in  conformity. 

In  due  time  we  were  summoned  to  the  table,  and 
went  thither  in  no  solemn  procession,  but  with  a good 
deal  of  jostling,  thrusting  behind,  and  scrambling  for 
places  when  we  reached  our  destination.  The  legal 
gentlemen,  I suspect,  were  responsible  for  this  indeco- 
rous zea],  which  I never  afterwards  remarked  in  a 
, similar  party.  The  dining-hall  was  of  noble  size,  and, 
like  the  other  rooms  of  the  suite,  was  gorgeously 
painted  and  gilded  and  brilliantly  illuminated.  There 
was  a splendid  table-service,  and  a noble  array  of  foot- 
men, some  of  them  in  plain  clothes,  and  others  wear- 
ing the  town-livery,  richly  decorated  with  gold-lace, 
and  themselves  excellent  specimens  of  the  blooming 
young  manhood  of  Britain.  When  we  were  fairly 
seated,  it  was  certainly  an  agreeable  spectacle  to  look 
up  and  down  the  long  vista  of  earnest  faces,  and  be- 
hold them  so  resolute,  so  conscious  that  there  was  an 
important  business  in  hand,  and  so  determined  to  be 
equal  to  the  occasion.  Indeed,  Englishman  or  not,  I 
hardly  know  what  can  be  prettier  than  a snow-white 
table-cloth,  a huge  heap  of  flowers  as  a central  decora- 
tion, bright  silver,  rich  china,  crystal  glasses,  decan- 
ters of  Sherry  at  due  intervals,  a French  roll  and  an 
artistically  folded  napkin  at  each  plate,  all  that  airy 
portion  of  a banquet,  in  short,  that  comes  before  the 
first  mouthful,  the  whole  illuminated  by  a blaze  of  ar- 
tificial light,  without  which  a dinner  of  made-dishes 
looks  spectral,  and  the  simplest  viands  are  the  best. 
Printed  bills-of-fare  were  distributed,  representing  an 
abundant  feast,  no  part  of  which  appeared  on  the  ta- 
ble imtil  called  for  in  separate  plates.  I have  entirely 


876 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


forgotten  what  it  was,  but  deem  it  no  great  matter, 
inasmuch  as  there  is  a pervading  commonplace  and 
identicalness  in  the  composition  of  extensive  dinners, 
on  account  of  the  impossibility  of  supplying  a hun- 
dred guests  with  anything  particularly  delicate  or  rare. 
It  was  suggested  to  me  that  certain  juicy  old  gentle- 
men had  a private  understanding  what  to  call  for,  and 
that  it  would  be  good  policy  in  a stranger  to  follow  in 
their  footsteps  through  the  feast.  I did  not  care  to 
do  so,  however,  because,  like  Sancho  Panza’s  dip  out 
of  Camacho’s  caldron,  any  sort  of  potluck  at  such  a 
table  would  be  sure  to  suit  my  purpose ; so  I chose  a 
dish  or  two  on  my  own  judgment,  and,  getting  through 
my  labors  betimes,  had  great  pleasure  in  seeing  the 
Englishmen  toil  onward  to  the  end. 

They  drank  rather  copiously,  too,  though  wisely ; 
for  I observed  that  they  seldom  took  Hock,  and  let 
the  Champagne  bubble  slowly  away  out  of  the  goblet, 
solacing  themselves  with  Sherry,  but  tasting  it  warily 
before  bestowing  their  final  confidence.  Their  taste 
in  wines,  however,  did  not  seem  so  exquisite,  and  cer- 
tainly was  not  so  various,  as  that  to  which  many 
Americans  pretend.  This  foppery  of  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  rare  vintages  does  not  suit  a sensible 
Englishman,  as  he  is  very  much  in  earnest  about  his 
wines,  and  adopts  one  or  two  as  his  lifelong  friends, 
seldom  exchanging  them  for  any  Delilahs  of  a mo- 
ment, and  reaping  the  reward  of  his  constancy  in  an 
unimpaired  stomach,  and  only  so  much  gout  as  he 
deems  wholesome  and  desirable.  Knowing  well  the 
measure  of  his  powers,  he  is  not  apt  to  fill  his  glass 
too  often.  Society,  indeed,  would  hardly  tolerate  ha- 
bitual imprudences  of  that  kind,  though,  in  my  opin- 
ion, the  Englishmen  now  upon  the  stage  could  carry 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


877 


off  their  three  bottles,  at  need,  with  as  steady  a gait  as 
any  of  their  forefathers.  It  is  not  so  very  long  since 
the  three-bottle  heroes  sank  finally  under  the  table. 
It  may  be  (at  least,  I should  be  glad  if  it  were  true) 
that  there  was  an  occult  sympathy  between  our  tem- 
perance reform,  now  somewhat  in  abeyance,  and  the 
almost  simultaneous  disappearance  of  hard-drinking 
among  the  respectable  classes  in  England.  I remem- 
ber a middle-aged  gentleman  telling  me  (in  illustra- 
tion of  the  very  slight  importance  attached  to  breaches 
of  temperance  within  the  memory  of  men  not  yet  old) 
that  he  had  seen  a certain  magistrate.  Sir  John  Link- 
water,  or  Drinkwater,  — but  I think  the  jolly  old 
knight  could  hardly  have  staggered  under  so  perverse 
a misnomer  as  this  last,  — while  sitting  on  the  magis- 
terial bench,  pull  out  a crown-piece  and  hand  it  to  the 
clerk.  “Mr.  Clerk,”  said  Sir  John,  as  if  it  were  the 
most  indifferent  fact  in  the  world,  “ I was  drunk  last 
night.  There  are  my  five  shillings.” 

During  the  dinner,  I had  a good  deal  of  pleasant 
conversation  with  the  gentlemen  on  either  side  of  me. 
One  of  them,  a lawyer,  expatiated  with  great  unction 
on  the  social  standing  of  the  judges.  Representing 
the  dignity  and  authority  of  the  Crown,  they  take  pre- 
cedence, during  assize -time,  of  the  highest  military 
men  in  the  kingdom,  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the 
county,  of  the  Archbishops,  of  the  royal  Dukes,  and 
even  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  For  the  nonce,  they 
are  the  greatest  men  in  England.  With  a glow  of 
professional  complacency  that  amounted  to  enthusi- 
asm, my  friend  assured  me,  that,  in  case  of  a royal 
dinner,  a judge,  if  actually  holding  an  assize,  would 
be  expected  to  offer  his  arm  and  take  the  Queen  her- 
self to  the  table.  Happening  to  be  in  company  with 


878 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


some  of  these  elevated  personages,  on  subsequent  occa- 
sions, it  appeared  to  me  that  the  judges  are  fully  con- 
scious of  their  paramount  claims  to  respect,  and  take 
rather  more  pains  to  impress  them  on  their  ceremonial 
inferiors  than  men  of  high  hereditary  rank  are  apt  to 
do.  Bishops,  if  it  be  not  irreverent  to  say  so,  are 
sometimes  marked  by  a similar  characteristic.  Dig- 
nified position  is  so  sweet  to  an  Englishman,  that  he 
needs  to  be  born  in  it,  and  to  feel  it  thoroughly  incor- 
porated with  his  nature  from  its  original  germ,  in  or- 
der to  keep  him  from  flaunting  it  obtrusively  in  the 
faces  of  innocent  by-standers. 

My  companion  on  the  other  side  was  a thick-set, 
middle-aged  man,  uncouth  in  manners,  and  ugly  where 
none  were  handsome,  with  a dark,  roughly  hewn  vis- 
age, that  looked  grim  in  repose,  and  seemed  to  hold 
within  itself  the  machinery  of  a very  terrific  frown. 
He  ate  with  resolute  appetite,  and  let  slip  few  oppor- 
tunities of  imbibing  whatever  liquids  happened  to  be 
passing  by.  I was  meditating  in  what  way  this  grisly 
featured  table-fellow  might  most  safely  be  accosted, 
when  he  turned  to  me  with  a surly  sort  of  kindness, 
and  invited  me  to  take  a glass  of  wine.  We  then  be- 
gan a conversation  that  abounded,  on  his  part,  with 
sturdy  sense,  and,  somehow  or  other,  brought  me 
closer  to  him  than  I had  yet  stood  to  an  Englishman. 
I should  hardly  have  taken  him  to  be  an  educated 
man,  certainly  not  a scholar  of  accurate  training ; and 
yet  he  seemed  to  have  all  the  resources  of  education 
and  trained  intellectual  power  at  command.  My  fresh 
Americanism,  and  watchful  observation  of  English 
characteristics,  appeared  either  to  interest  or  amuse 
him,  or  perhaps  both.  Under  the  mollifying  influ- 
ences of  abundance  of  meat  and  drink,  he  grew  very 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


379 


gracious  (not  that  I ought  to  use  such  a phrase  to 
describe  his  evidently  genuine  good-will),  and  by  and 
by  expressed  a wish  for  further  acquaintance,  asking 
me  to  call  at  his  rooms  in  London  and  inquire  for 
Sergeant  Wilkins,  — throwing  out  the  name  forcibly, 
as  if  he  had  no  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  1 
remembered  Dean  Swift’s  retort  to  Sergeant  Bet 
tesworth  on  a similar  announcement,  — Of  what 
regiment,  pray,  sir  ? ” — and  fancied  that  the  same 
question  might  not  have  been  quite  amiss,  if  applied 
to  the  rugged  individual  at  my  side.  But  I heard  of 
him  subsequently  as  one  of  the  prominent  men  at  the 
English  bar,  a rough  customer,  and  a terribly  strong 
champion  in  criminal  cases ; and  it  caused  me  more 
regret  than  might  have  been  expected,  on  so  slight  an 
acquaintanceship,  when,  not  long  afterwards,  I saw 
his  death  announced  in  the  newspapers.  Not  rich  in 
attractive  qualities,  he  possessed,  I think,  the  most 
attractive  one  of  all,  — thorough  manhood. 

After  the  cloth  was  removed,  a goodly  group  of  de- 
canters were  set  before  the  Mayor,  who  sent  them 
forth  on  their  outward  voyage,  full  freighted  with 
Port,  Sherry,  Madeira,  and  Claret,  of  which  excellent 
liquors,  methought,  the  latter  found  least  acceptance 
among  the  guests.  When  every  man  had  filled  his 
glass,  his  Worship  stood  up  and  proposed  a toast.  It 
was,  of  course,  Our  gracious  Sovereign,”  or  words  to 
that  effect;  and  immediately  a band  of  musicians, 
whose  preliminary  footings  and  thrummings  I had 
already  heard  behind  me,  struck  up  God  save  the 
Queen  ! ” and  the  whole  company  rose  with  one  im- 
pulse to  assist  in  singing  that  famous  national  anthem. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I had  ever  seen  a 
body  of  men,  or  even  a single  man,  under  the  active 


380 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


influence  of  the  sentiment  of  Loyalty ; for,  though  we 
call  ourselves  loyal  to  our  country  and  institutions, 
and  prove  it  by  our  readiness  to  shed  blood  and  sac- 
rifice life  in  their  behalf,  still  the  principle  is  as  cold 
and  hard,  in  an  American  bosom,  as  the  steel  spring 
that  puts  in  motion  a powerful  machinery.  In  the 
Englishman’s  system,  a force  similar  to  that  of  our 
steel  spring  is  generated  by  the  warm  throbbings  of 
human  hearts.  He  clothes  our  bare  abstraction  in 
flesh  and  blood,  — at  present,  in  the  flesh  and  blood 
of  a woman,  — and  manages  to  combine  love,  awe, 
and  intellectual  reverence,  all  in  one  emotion,  and  to 
embody  his  mother,  his  wife,  his  children,  the  whole 
idea  of  kindred,  in  a single  person,  and  make  her  the 
representative  of  his  country  and  its  laws.  We  Amer- 
icans smile  superior,  as  I did  at  the  Mayor’s  table ; 
and  yet,  I fancy,  we  lose  some  very  agreeable  titilla- 
tions  of  the  heart  in  consequence  of  our  proud  prerog- 
ative of  caring  no  more  about  our  President  than  for 
a man  of  straw,  or  a stuffed  scarecrow  straddling  in 
a cornfield. 

But,  to  say  the  truth,  the  spectacle  struck  me 
rather  ludicrously,  to  see  this  party  of  stout  middle- 
aged  and  elderly  gentlemen,  in  the  fulness  of  meat 
and  drink,  their  ample  and  ruddy  faces  glistening 
with  wine,  perspiration,  and  enthusiasm,  rumbling  out 
those  strange  old  stanzas  from  the  very  bottom  of 
their  hearts  and  stomachs,  which  two  organs,  in  the 
English  interior  arrangement,  lie  closer  together  than 
in  ours.  The  song  seemed  to  me  the  rudest  old  ditty 
in  the  world  ; but  I could  not  wonder  at  its  universal 
acceptance  and  indestructible  popularity,  considering 
how  inimitably  it  expresses  the  national  faith  and  feel- 
ing as  regards  the  inevitable  righteousness  of  Eng- 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


381 


land,  the  Almighty’s  consequent  respect  and  partial- 
ity for  that  redoubtable  little  island,  and  his  presumed 
readiness  to  strengthen  its  defence  against  the  con- 
tumacious wickedness  and  knavery  of  all  other  princi- 
palities or  republics.  Tennyson  himself,  though  evi- 
dently English  to  the  very  last  prejudice,  could  not 
write  half  so  good  a song  for  the  purpose.  Finding 
that  the  entire  dinner-table  struck  in,  with  voices  of 
every  pitch  between  rolling  thunder  and  the  squeak  of 
a cart-wheel,  and  that  the  strain  was  not  of  such  deli- 
cacy as  to  be  much  hurt  by  the  harshest  of  them,  I 
determined  to  lend  my  own  assistance  in  swelling  the 
triumphant  roar.  It  seemed  but  a proper  courtesy  to 
the  first  Lady  in  the  land,  whose  guest,  in  the  largest 
sense,  I might  consider  myself.  Accordingly,  my  first 
tuneful  efforts  (and  probably  my  last,  for  I purpose 
not  to  sing  any  more,  unless  it  be  Hail  Columbia  ” 
on  the  restoration  of  the  Union)  were  poured  freely 
forth  in  honor  of  Queen  Victoria.  The  Sergeant 
smiled  like  the  carved  head  of  a Swiss  nutcracker, 
and  the  other  gentlemen  in  my  neighborhood,  by  nods 
and  gestures,  evinced  grave  approbation  of  so  suitable 
a tribute  to  English  superiority ; and  we  finished  our 
stave  and  sat  down  in  an  extremely  happy  frame  of 
mind. 

Other  toasts  followed  in  honor  of  the  great  institu- 
tions and  interests  of  the  country,  and  speeches  in  re- 
sponse to  each  were  made  by  individuals  whom  the 
Mayor  designated  or  the  company  called  for.  None 
of  them  impressed  me  with  a very  high  idea  of  Eng- 
lish postprandial  oratory.  It  is  inconceivable,  indeed, 
what  ragged  and  shapeless  utterances  most  English- 
men are  satisfied  to  give  vent  to,  without  attempting 
anything  like  artistic  shape,  but  clapping  on  a patch 


382 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


here  and  another  there,  and  ultimately  getting  out 
what  they  want  to  say,  and  generally  with  a result  of 
sufficiently  good  sense,  but  in  some  such  disorganized 
mass  as  if  they  had  thrown  it  up  rather  than  spoken 
it.  It  seemed  tb  me  that  this  was  almost  as  much 
by  choice  as  necessity.  An  Englishman,  ambitious  of 
public  favor,  should  not  be  too  smooth.  If  an  orator 
is  glib,  his  countrymen  distrust  him.  They  dislike 
smartness.  The  stronger  and  heavier  his  thoughts, 
the  better,  provided  there  be  an  element  of  common- 
place running  through  them ; and  any  rough,  yet 
never  vulgar  force  of  expression,  such  as  would  knock 
an  opponent  down  if  it  hit  him,  only  it  must  not  be 
fcoo  personal,  is  altogether  to  their  taste ; but  a studied 
neatness  of  language,  or  other  such  superficial  graces, 
they  cannot  abide.  They  do  not  often  permit  a man 
to  make  himself  a fine  orator  of  malice  aforethought, 
that  is,  unless  he  be  a nobleman  (as,  for  example, 
Lord  Stanley,  of  the  Derby  family),  who,  as  an  hered- 
itary legislator  and  necessarily  a public  speaker,  is 
bound  to  remedy  a poor  natural  delivery  in  the  best 
way  he  can.  On  the  whole,  I partly  agree  with  them, 
and,  if  I cared  for  any  oratory  whatever,  should  be  as 
likely  to  applaud  theirs  as  our  own.  When  an  Eng- 
lish speaker  sits  down,  you  feel  that  you  have  been 
listening  to  a real  man,  and  not  to  an  actor ; his  senti- 
ments have  a wholesome  earth-smell  in  them,  though, 
very  likely,  this  apparent  naturalness  is  as  much  an 
art  as  what  we  expend  in  rounding  a sentence  or  elab- 
orating a peroration. 

It  is  one  good  effect  of  this  inartificial  style,  that 
nobody  in  England  seems  to  feel  any  shyness  about 
shovelling  the  untrimmed  and  untrimmable  ideas  out 
of  his  mind  for  the  benefit  of  an  audience.  At  least, 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


388 


nobody  did  on  the  occasion  now  in  hand,  except  a 
poor  little  Major  of  Artillery,  who  responded  for  the 
Army  in  a thin,  quavering  voice,  with  a terribly  hesi* 
tating  trickle  of  fragmentary  ideas,  and,  I question 
not,  would  rather  have  been  bayoneted  in  front  of  his 
batteries  than  to  have  said  a word.  Not  his  own 
mouth,  but  the  cannon’s,  was  this  poor  Major’s  proper 
organ  of  utterance. 

While  I was  thus  amiably  occupied  in  criticising  my 
fellow-guests,  the  Mayor  had  got  up  to  propose  another 
toast;  and  listening  rather  inattentively  to  the  first 
sentence  or  two,  I soon  became  sensible  of  a drift  in 
his  Worship’s  remarks  that  made  me  glance  apprehen- 
sively towards  Sergeant  Wilkins.  ‘‘Yes,”  grumbled 
that  gruff  personage,  shoving  a decanter  of  Port  to- 
wards me,  “ it  is  your  turn  next  ” ; and  seeing  in  my 
face,  I suppose,  the  consternation  of  a wholly  unprac- 
tised orator,  he  kindly  added,  “ It  is  nothing.  A 
mere  acknowledgment  will  answer  the  purpose.  The 
less  you  say,  the  better  they  will  like  it.”  That  being 
the  case,  I suggested  that  perhaps  they  would  like  it 
best  if  I said  nothing  at  all.  But  the  Sergeant  shook 
his  head.  Now,  on  first  receiving  the  Mayor’s  invita- 
tion to  dinner,  it  had  occurred  to  me  that  I might  pos- 
sibly be  brought  into  my  present  predicament ; but  1 
had  dismissed  the  idea  from  my  mind  as  too  disagree- 
able to  be  entertained,  and,  moreover,  as  so  alien  from 
my  disposition  and  character  that  Fate  surely  could 
not  keep  such  a misfortune  in  store  for  me.  If  noth- 
ing else  prevented,  an  earthquake  or  the  crack  of  doom 
would  certainly  interfere  before  I need  rise  to  speak. 
Yet  here  was  the  Mayor  getting  on  inexorably,  — and, 
indeed,  I heartily  wished  that  he  might  get  on  and  on 
forever,  and  of  his  wordy  wanderings  find  no  end. 


384 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


If  the  gentle  reader,  my  kindest  friend  and  closest 
confidant,  deigns  to  desire  it,  I can  impart  to  him  my 
own  experience  as  a public  speaker  quite  as  indiffer- 
ently as  if  it  concerned  another  person.  Indeed,  it 
does  concern  another,  or  a mere  spectral  phenomenon, 
for  it  was  not  I,  in  my  proper  and  natural  self,  that 
sat  there  at  table  or  subsequently  rose  to  speak.  At 
the  moment,  then,  if  the  choice  had  been  offered  me 
whether  the  Mayor  should  let  off  a speech  at  my  head 
or  a pistol,  I should  unhesitatingly  have  taken  the  lat- 
ter alternative.  I had  really  nothing  to  say,  not  an 
idea  in  my  head,  nor,  which  was  a great  deal  worse, 
any  flowing  words  or  embroidered  sentences  in  which 
to  dress  out  that  empty  Nothing,  and  give  it  a cunning- 
aspect  of  intelligence,  such  as  might  last  the  poor  va- 
cuity the  little  time  it  had  to  live.  But  time  pressed  ; 
the  Mayor  brought  his  remarks,  affectionately  eulogis- 
tic of  the  United  States  and  highly  complimentary  to 
their  distinguished  representative  at  that  table,  to  a 
close,  amid  a vast  deal  of  cheering;  and  the  band 
struck  up  “ Hail  Columbia,”  I believe,  though  it  might 
have  been  Old  Hundred,”  or  God  save  the  Queen” 
over  again,  for  anything  that  I should  have  known  or 
cared.  When  the  music  ceased,  there  was  an  intensely 
disagreeable  instant,  during  which  I seemed  to  rend 
away  and  fling  off  the  habit  of  a lifetime,  and  rose, 
still  void  of  ideas,  but  with  preternatural  composure, 
to  make  a speech.  The  guests  rattled  on  the  table, 
and  cried,  Hear ! ” most  vociferously,  as  if  now,  at 
length,  in  this  foolish  and  idly  garrulous  world,  had 
come  the  long-expected  moment  when  one  golden  word 
was  to  be  spoken ; and  in  that  imminent  crisis,  I 
caught  a glimpse  of  a little  bit  of  an  effusion  of  inter- 
national sentiment,  which  it  might,  and  must,  and 
should  do  to  utter. 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


385 


Well  ; it  was  nothing,  as  the  Sergeant  had  said. 
What  surprised  me  most  was  the  sound  of  my  own 
voice,  which  I had  never  before  heard  at  declamatory 
pitch,  and  which  impressed  me  as  belonging  to  some 
other  person,  who,  and  not  myself,  would  be  responsi- 
ble for  the  speech  : a prodigious  consolation  and  en- 
couragement under  the  circumstances ! I went  on 
without  the  slightest  embarrassment,  and  sat  down 
amid  great  applause,  wholly  undeserved  by  anything 
that  I had  spoken,  but  well  won  from  Englishmen,  me- 
thought,  by  the  new  development  of  pluck  that  alone 
had  enabled  me  to  speak  at  all.  “ It  was  handsomely 
done  ! ” quoth  Sergeant  W ilkins ; and  I felt  like  a re- 
cruit who  had  been  for  the  first  time  under  fire. 

I would  gladly  have  ended  my  oratorical  career  then 
and  there  forever,  but  was  often  placed  in  a similar  or 
worse  position,  and  compelled  to  meet  it  as  I best 
might ; for  this  was  one  of  the  necessities  of  an  office 
which  I had  voluntarily  taken  on  my  shoulders,  and 
beneath  which  I might  be  crushed  by  no  moral  delin- 
quency on  my  own  part,  but  could  not  shirk  without 
cowardice  and  shame.  My  subsequent  fortune  was  va- 
rious. Once,  though  I felt  it  to  be  a kind  of  impos- 
ture, I got  a speech  by  heart,  and  doubtless  it  might 
have  been  a very  pretty  one,  only  I forgot  every  sylla- 
ble at  the  moment  of  need,  and  had  to  improvise  an- 
other as  well  as  I could.  I found  it  a better  method 
to  prearrange  a few  points  in  my  mind,  and  trust  to 
the  spur  of  the  occasion,  and  the  kind  aid  of  Provi- 
dence, for  enabling  me  to  bring  them  to  bear.  The 
presence  of  any  considerable  proportion  of  personal 
friends  generally  dumbfounded  me.  I would  rather 
have  talked  with  an  enemy  in  the  gate.  Invariably, 
too,  I was  much  embarrassed  by  a small  audience,  and 

VOL.  VII.  25 


386 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


succeeded  better  with  a large  one,  — the  sympathy  of 
a multitude  possessing  a buoyant  effect,  which  lifts  the 
speaker  a little  way  out  of  his  individuality,  and  tosses 
him  towards  a perhaps  better  range  of  sentiment  than 
his  private  one.  Again,  if  I rose  carelessly  and  con< 
fidently,  with  an  expectation  of  going  through  the  busi 
ness  entirely  at  my  ease,  I often  found  that  I had  lit- 
tle or  nothing  to  say ; whereas,  if  I came  to  the  charge 
in  perfect  despair,  and  at  a crisis  when  failure  would 
have  been  horrible,  it  once  or  twice  happened  that  the 
frightful  emergency  concentrated  my  poor  faculties, 
and  enabled  me  to  give  definite  and  vigorous  expres- 
sion to  sentiments  which  an  instant  before  looked  as 
vague  and  far  off  as  the  clouds  in  the  atmosphere. 
On  the  whole,  poor  as  my  own  success  may  have 
been,  I apprehend  that  any  intelligent  man  with  a 
tongue  possesses  the  chief  requisite  of  oratorical  pow- 
er, and  may  develop  many  of  the  others,  if  he  deems  it 
worth  while  to  bestow  a great  amount  of  labor  and 
pains  on  an  object  which  the  most  accomplished  ora- 
tors, I suspect,  have  not  found  altogether  satisfactory 
to  their  highest  impulses.  At  any  rate,  it  must  be  a 
remarkably  true  man  who  can  keep  his  own  elevated 
conception  of  truth  when  the  lower  feeling  of  a multi- 
tude is  assailing  his  natural  sympathies,  and  who  can 
speak  out  frankly  the  best  that  there  is  in  him,  when 
by  adulterating  it  a little,  or  a good  deal,  he  knows 
that  he  may  make  it  ten  times  as  acceptable  to  the  au- 
dience. 

This  slight  article  on  the  civic  banquets  of  England 
would  be  too  wretchedly  imperfect  without  an  at- 
tempted description  of  a Lord  Mayor’s  dinner  at  the 
Mansion  House  in  London.  I should  have  preferred 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


387 


tlie  annual  feast  at  Guildhall,  but  never  had  the  good 
fortune  to  witness  it.  Once,  however,  I was  honored 
with  an  invitation  to  one  of  the  regular  dinners,  and 
gladly  accepted  it,  — taking  the  precaution,  neverthe- 
less, though  it  hardly  seemed  necessary,  to  inform  the 
City-King,  through  a mutual  friend,  that  I was  no  fit 
representative  of  American  eloquence,  and  must  hum= 
bly  make  it  a condition  that  I should  not  be  expected 
to  open  my  mouth,  except  for  the  reception  of  his 
Lordship’s  bountiful  hospitality.  The  reply  was  gra- 
cious and  acquiescent ; so  that  I presented  myself  in 
the  great  entrance-hall  of  the  Mansion  House,  at  half- 
past six  o’clock,  in  a state  of  most  enjoyable  freedom 
from  the  pusillanimous  apprehensions  that  often  tor- 
mented me  at  such  times.  The  Mansion  House  was 
built  in  Queen  Anne’s  days,  in  the  very  heart  of  old 
London,  and  is  a palace  worthy  of  its  inhabitant,  were 
he  really  as  great  a man  as  his  traditionary  state  and 
pomp  would  seem  to  indicate.  Times  are  changed, 
however,  since  the  days  of  Whittington,  or  even  of 
Hogarth’s  Industrious  Apprentice,  to  whom  the  high- 
est imaginable  reward  of  lifelong  integrity  was  a seat 
in  the  Lord  Mayor’s  chair.  People  nowadays  say  that 
the  real  dignity  and  importance  have  perished  out  of 
the  office,  as  they  do,  sooner  or  later,  out  of  all  earthly 
institutions,  leaving  only  a painted  and  gilded  shell 
like  that  of  an  Easter  egg,  and  that  it  is  only  second- 
rate  and  third-rate  men  who  now  condescend  to  be  am- 
bitious of  the  Mayoralty.  I felt  a little  grieved  at 
this  ; for  the  original  emigrants  of  New  England  had 
strong  sympathies  with  the  people  of  London,  who 
'were  mostly  Puritans  in  religion  and  Parliamentarians 
in  politics,  in  the  early  days  of  our  country ; so  that 
the  Lord  Mayor  was  a potentate  of  huge  dimensions 


888 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


in  the  estimation  of  our  forefathers,  and  held  to  be 
hardly  second  to  the  prime  minister  of  the  throne. 
The  true  great  men  of  the  city  now  appear  to  have 
aims  beyond  city  greatness,  connecting  themselves 
with  national  politics,  and  seeking  to  be  identified 
with  the  aristocracy  of  the  country. 

In  the  entrance-hall  I was  received  by  a body  of 
footmen  dressed  in  a livery  of  blue  coats  and  buff 
breeches,  in  which  they  looked  wonderfully  like  Amer- 
ican Revolutionary  generals,  only  bedizened  with  far 
more  lace  and  embroidery  than  those  simple  and  grand 
old  heroes  ever  dreamed  of  wearing.  There  were  like- 
wise two  very  imposing  figures,  whom  I should  have 
taken  to  be  military  men  of  rank,  being  arrayed  in 
scarlet  coats  and  large  silver  epaulets ; but  they  turned 
out  to  be  officers  of  the  Lord  Mayor’s  household,  and 
were  now  employed  in  assigning  to  the  guests  the 
places  which  they  were  respectively  to  occupy  at  the 
dinner-table.  Our  names  (for  I had  included  myself 
in  a little  group  of  friends)  were  announced ; and  as- 
cending the  staircase,  we  met  his  Lordship  in  the  door- 
way of  the  first  reception-room,  where,  also,  we  had  the 
advantage  of  a presentation  to  the  Lady  Mayoress. 
As  this  distinguished  couple  retired  into  private  life 
at  the  termination  of  their  year  of  office,  it  is  inad- 
missible to  make  any  remarks,  critical  or  laudatory, 
on  the  manners  and  bearing  of  two  personages  sud- 
denly emerging  from  a position  of  respectable  medioc- 
rity into  one  of  preeminent  dignity  within  their  own 
sphere.  Such  individuals  almost  always  seem  to  grow 
nearly  or  quite  to  the  full  size  of  their  office.  If  it 
were  desirable  to  write  an  essay  on  the  latent  aptitude 
of  ordinary  people  for  grandeur,  we  have  an  exempli 
fication  in  our  own  country,  and  on  a scale  incompara- 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


889 


bly  greater  than  that  of  the  Mayoralty,  though  in- 
vested with  nothing  like  the  outward  magnificence  that 
gilds  and  embroiders  the  latter.  If  I have  been  cor- 
rectly informed,  the  Lord  Mayor’s  salary  is  exactly 
double  that  of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  and 
yet  is  found  very  inadequate  to  his  necessary  expen- 
diture. 

There  were  two  reception-rooms,  thrown  into  one  by 
the  opening  of  wide  folding-doors ; and  though  in  an 
old  style,  and  not  yet  so  old  as  to  be  venerable,  they 
are  remarkably  handsome  apartments,  lofty  as  well  as 
spacious,  with  carved  ceilings  and  walls,  and  at  either 
end  a splendid  fireplace  of  white  marble,  ornamented 
with  sculptured  wreaths  of  flowers  and  foliage.  The 
company  were  about  three  hundred,  many  of  them  ce- 
lebrities in  politics,  war,  literature,  and  science,  though 
I recollect  none  preeminently  distinguished  in  either 
department.  But  it  is  certainly  a pleasant  mode  of 
doing  honor  to  men  of  literature,  for  example,  who  de- 
serve well  of  the  public,  yet  do  not  often  meet  it  face 
to  face,  thus  to  bring  them  together  under  genial  au- 
spices, in  connection  with  persons  of  note  in  other  lines. 
I know  not  what  may  be  the  Lord  Mayor’s  mode  or 
principle  of  selecting  his  guests,  nor  whether,  during 
his  official  term,  he  can  proffer  his  hospitality  to  every 
man  of  noticeable  talent  in  the  wide  world  of  London, 
\ior,  in  fine,  whether  his  Lordship’s  invitation  is  much 
sought  for  or  valued ; but  it  seemed  to  me  that  this 
periodical  feast  is  one  of  the  many  sagacious  methods 
which  the  English  have  contrived  for  keeping  up  a 
good  understanding  among  different  sorts  of  people. 
Like  most  other  distinctions  of  society,  however,  I pre- 
sume that  the  Lord  Mayor’s  card  does  not  often  seek 
out  modest  merit,  but  comes  at  last  when  the  recip- 


390  CIVIC  BANQUETS, 

ient  is  conscious  of  the  bore,  and  doubtful  about  the 
honor. 

One  very  pleasant  characteristic,  which  I never  met 
with  at  any  other  public  or  partially  public  dinner, 
was  the  presence  of  ladies.  No  doubt,  they  were  prin- 
cipally the  wives  and  daughters  of  city  magnates ; and 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  many  sly  allusions  in  old 
plays  and  satirical  poems,  the  city  of  London  has  al- 
ways been  famous  for  the  beauty  of  its  women  and  the 
reciprocal  attractions  between  them  and  the  men  of 
quality.  Be  that  as  it  might,  while  straying  hither 
and  thither  through  those  crowded  apartments,  I saw 
much  reason  for  modifying  certain  heterodox  opinions 
which  I had  imbibed,  in  my  Transatlantic  newness 
and  rawness,  as  regarded  the  delicate  character  and 
frequent  occurrence  of  English  beauty.  To  state  the 
entire  truth  (being,  at  this  period,  some  years  old  in 
English  life),  my  taste,  I fear,  had  long  since  begun 
to  be  deteriorated  by  acquaintance  with  other  models 
of  feminine  loveliness  than  it  was  my  happiness  to 
know  in  America.  I often  found,  or  seemed  to  find, 
if  I may  dare  to  confess  it,  in  the  persons  of  such  of 
my  dear  countrywomen  as  I now  occasionally  met,  a 
certain  meagreness,  (Heaven  forbid  that  I should  call 
it  scrawniness  !)  a deficiency  of  physical  development, 
a scantiness,  so  to  speak,  in  the  pattern  of  their  ma- 
terial make,  a paleness  of  complexion,  a thinness  of 
voice,  — all  of  which  characteristics,  nevertheless,  only 
made  me  resolve  so  much  the  more  sturdily  to  uphold 
these  fair  creatures  as  angels,  because  I was  some- 
times driven  to  a half -acknowledgment  that  the  Eng- 
lish ladies,  looked  at  from  a lower  point  of  view,  were 
perhaps  a little  finer  animals  than  they.  The  advan- 
tages of  the  latter,  if  any  they  could  really  be  said  to 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


391 


have,  were  all  comprised  in  a few  additional  lumps  of 
clay  on  their  shoulders  and  other  parts  of  their  figures. 
It  would  be  a pitiful  bargain  to  give  up  the  ethereal 
charm  of  American  beauty  in  exchange  for  half  a hun- 
dred-weight of  human  clay ! 

At  a given  signal  we  all  found  our  way  into  an  im- 
mense room,  called  the  Egyptian  Hall,  I know  not 
why,  except  that  the  architecture  was  classic,  and  as 
different  as  possible  from  the  ponderous  style  of  Mem- 
phis and  the  Pyramids.  A powerful  band  played  in- 
spiringly  as  we  entered,  and  a brilliant  profusion  of 
light  shone  down  on  two  long  tables,  extending  the 
whole  length  of  the  hall,  and  a cross-table  between 
them,  occupying  nearly  its  entire  breadth.  Glass 
gleamed  and  silver  glistened  on  an  acre  or  two  of 
snowy  damask,  over  which  were  set  out  all  the  accom- 
paniments of  a stately  feast.  We  found  our  places 
without  much  difficulty,  and  the  Lord  Mayor’s  chap- 
lain implored  a blessing  on  the  food,  — a ceremony 
which  the  English  never  omit,  at  a great  dinner  or  a 
small  one,  yet  consider,  I fear,  not  so  much  a religious 
rite  as  a sort  of  preliminary  relish  before  the  soup. 

The  soup,  of  course,  on  this  occasion,  was  turtle,  of 
which,  in  accordance  with  immemorial  custom,  each 
guest  was  allowed  two  platefuls,  in  spite  of  the  other- 
wise immitigable  law  of  table-decorum.  Indeed,  judg- 
ing from  the  proceedings  of  the  gentlemen  near  me,  I 
surmised  that  there  was  no  practical  limit,  except  the 
appetite  of  the  guests  and  the  capacity  of  the  soup- 
tureens.  Not  being  fond  of  this  civic  dainty,  I par- 
took of  it  but  once,  and  then  only  in  accordance  with 
the  wise  maxim,  always  to  taste  a fruit,  a wine,  or  a 
celebrated  dish,  at  its  indigenous  site  ; and  the  very 
fountain-head  of  turtle-soup,  I suppose,  is  in  the  Lord 


892 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


Mayor’s  dinner-pot.  It  is  one  of  those  orthodox  cus- 
toms which  people  follow  for  half  a century  without 
knowing  why,  to  drink  a sip  of  rum-punch,  in  a very 
small  tumbler,  after  the  soup.  It  was  excellently  well- 
brewed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  almost  worth  while  to 
sup  the  soup  for  the  sake  of  sipping  the  punch.  The 
rest  of  the  dinner  was  catalogued  in  a bill -of -fare 
printed  on  delicate  white  paper  within  an  arabesque 
border  of  green  and  gold.  It  looked  very  good,  not 
only  in  the  English  and  French  names  of  the  numer- 
ous dishes,  but  also  in  the  positive  reality  of  the  dishes 
themselves,  which  were  all  set  on  the  table  to  be 
carved  and  distributed  by  the  guests.  This  ancient 
and  honest  method  is  attended  with  a good  deal  of 
trouble,  and  a lavish  effusion  of  gravy,  yet  by  no 
means  bestowed  or  dispensed  in  vain,  because  you 
have  thereby  the  absolute  assurance  of  a banquet  ac- 
tually before  your  eyes,  instead  of  a shadowy  promise 
in  the  bill-of-fare,  and  such  meagre  fulfilment  as  a sin- 
gle guest  can  contrive  to  got  upon  his  individual  plate. 
I wonder  that  Englishmen,  who  are  fond  of  looking 
at  prize-oxen  in  the  shape  of  butcher’s-meat,  do  not 
generally  better  estimate  the  aesthetic  gormandism  of 
devouring  the  whole  dinner  with  their  eyesight,  before 
proceeding  to  nibble  the  comparatively  few  morsels 
which,  after  all,  the  most  heroic  appetite  and  widest 
stomachic  capacity  of  mere  mortals  can  enable  even 
an  alderman  really  to  eat.  There  fell  to  my  lot  three 
delectable  things  enough,  which  I take  pains  to  re- 
member, that  the  reader  may  not  go  away  wholly  un- 
satisfied from  the  Barmecide  feast  to  which  I have 
bidden  him,  — a red  mullet,  a plate  of  mushrooms, 
exquisitely  stewed,  and  part  of  a ptarmigan,  a bird  of 
the  same  family  as  the  grouse,  but  feeding  high  up 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


393 


towards  the  summit  of  the  Scotch  mountains,  whence 
it  gets  a wild  delicacy  of  flavor  very  superior  to  that 
of  the  artificially  nurtured  English  game-fowl.  All 
the  other  dainties  have  vanished  from  my  memory  as 
completely  as  those  of  Prospero’s  banquet  after  Ariel 
had  clapped  his  wings  over  it.  The  band  played  at 
intervals  inspiriting  us  to  new  efforts,  as  did  likewise 
the  sparkling  wines  which  the  footmen  supplied  from 
an  inexhaustible  cellar,  and  which  the  guests  quaffed 
with  little  apparent  reference  to  the  disagreeable  fact 
that  there  comes  a to-morrow  morning  after  every 
feast.  As  long  as  that  shall  be  the  case,  a prudent 
man  can  never  have  full  enjoyment  of  his  dinner. 

Nearly  opposite  to  me,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  sat  a young  lady  in  white,  whom  I am  sorely 
tempted  to  describe,  but  dare  not,  because  not  only 
the  supereminence  of  her  beauty,  but  its  peculiar  char- 
acter, would  cause  the  sketch  to  be  recognized,  how- 
ever rudely  it  might  be  drawn.  I hardly  thought 
that  there  existed  such  a woman  outside  of  a picture- 
frame,  or  the  covers  of  a romance : not  that  I had 
ever  met  with  her  resemblance  even  there,  but,  being 
so  distinct  and  singular  an  apparition,  she  seemed  like- 
lier to  find  her  sisterhood  in  poetry  and  picture  than 
in  real  life.  Let  us  turn  away  from  her,  lest  a touch 
too  apt  should  compel  her  stately  and  cold  and  soft 
and  womanly  grace  to  gleam  out  upon  my  page  with 
a strange  repulsion  and  unattainableness  in  the  very 
spell  that  made  her  beautiful.  At  her  side,  and  famil- 
iarly attentive  to  her,  sat  a gentleman  of  whom  I re- 
member only  a hard  outline  of  the  nose  and  forehead, 
and  such  a monstrous  portent  of  a beard  that  you 
could  discover  no  symptom  of  a mouth,  except  when 
he  opened  it  to  speak,  or  to  put  in  a morsel  of  food. 


S94 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


Then,  indeed,  you  suddenly  became  aware  of  a cave 
hidden  behind  the  impervious  and  darksome  shrub- 
bery. There  could  be  no  doubt  who  this  gentleman 
and  lady  were.  Any  child  would  have  recognized 
them  at  a glance.  It  was  Bluebeard  and  a new  wife 
(the  loveliest  of  the  series,  but  with  already  a myste- 
rious gloom  overshadowing  her  fair  young  brow)  trav- 
elling in  their  honeymoon,  and  dining,  among  other 
distinguished  strangers,  at  the  Lord  Mayor’s  table. 

After  an  hour  or  two  of  valiant  achievement  with 
knife  and  fork  came  the  dessert ; and  at  the  point  of 
the  festival  where  finger  - glasses  are  usually  intro- 
duced, a large  silver  basin  was  carried  round  to  the 
guests,  containing  rose-water,  into  which  we  dipped 
the  ends  of  our  napkins  and  were  conscious  of  a de- 
lightful fragrance,  instead  of  that  heavy  and  weary 
odor,  the  hateful  ghost  of  a defunct  dinner.  This 
seems  to  be  an  ancient  custom  of  the  city,  not  con- 
fined to  the  Lord  Mayor’s  table,  but  never  met  with 
westward  of  Temple  Bar. 

During  all  the  feast,  in  accordance  with  another  an- 
cient custom,  the  origin  or  purport  of  which  I do  not 
remember  to  have  heard,  there  stood  a man  in  armor, 
with  a helmet  on  his  head,  behind  his  Lordship’s  chair. 
When  the  after-dinner  wine  was  placed  on  the  table, 
still  another  official  personage  appeared  behind  the 
chair,  and  proceeded  to  make  a solemn  and  sonorous 
proclamation  (in  which  he  enumerated  the  principal 
guests,  comprising  three  or  four  noblemen,  several  bar- 
onets, and  plenty  of  generals,  members  of  Parliament, 
aldermen,  and  other  names  of  the  illustrious,  one  of 
which  sounded  strangely  familiar  to  my  ears),  ending 
in  some  such  style  as  this : and  other  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  here  present,  the  Lord  Mayor  drinks  to  you  all 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


395 


in  a loving-cup,”  — giving  a sort  of  sentimental  twang 
to  the  two  words,  — and  sends  it  round  among 
you!”  And  forthwith  the  loving-cup  — several  of 
them,  indeed,  on  each  side  of  the  tables  — came  slowly 
down  with  all  the  antique  ceremony. 

The  fashion  of  it  is  thus.  The  Lord  Mayor,  stand- 
ing up  and  taking  the  covered  cup  in  both  hands,  pre- 
sents it  to  the  guest  at  his  elbow,  who  likewise  rises, 
and  removes  the  cover  for  his  Lordship  to  drink,  which 
being  successfully  accomplished,  the  guest  replaces  the 
cover  and  receives  the  cup  into  his  own  hands.  He 
then  presents  it  to  his  next  neighbor,  that  the  cover 
may  be  again  removed  for  himself  to  take  a draught, 
after  which  the  third  person  goes  through  a similar 
manoeuvre  with  a fourth,  and  he  with  a fifth,  until  the 
whole  company  find  themselves  inextricably  inter- 
twisted and  entangled  in  one  complicated  chain  of  love. 
When  the  cup  came  to  my  hands,  I examined  it  crit- 
ically, both  inside  and  out,  and  perceived  it  to  be  an 
antique  and  richly  ornamented  silver  goblet,  capable 
of  holding  about  a quart  of  wine.  Considering  how 
much  trouble  we  all  expended  in  getting  the  cup  to 
our  lips,  the  guests  appeared  to  content  themselves 
with  wonderfully  moderate  potations.  In  truth,  nearly 
or  quite  the  original  quart  of  wine  being  still  in  the 
goblet,  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  any  of  the  com- 
pany had  more  than  barely  touched  the  silver  rim  be- 
fore passing  it  to  their  neighbors,  — a degree  of  ab- 
stinence that  might  be  accounted  for  by  a fastidious 
repugnance  to  so  many  compotators  in  one  cup,  or 
possibly  by  a disapprobation  of  the  liquor.  Being  cu- 
rious to  know  all  about  these  important  matters,  with 
a view  of  recommending  to  my  countrymen  whatever 
they  might  usefully  adopt,  I drank  an  honest  sip  from 


396 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


the  loving-cup,  and  had  no  occasion  for  another,  — . 
ascertaining  it  to  be  Claret  of  a poor  original  quality, 
largely  mingled  with  water,  and  spiced  and  sweetened. 
It  was  good  enough,  however,  for  a merely  spectral  or 
ceremonial  drink,  and  could  never  have  been  intended 
for  any  better  purpose. 

The  toasts  now  began  in  the  customary  order,  at- 
tended with  speeches  neither  more  nor  less  witty  and 
ingenious  than  the  specimens  of  table  eloquence  which 
had  heretofore  delighted  me.  As  preparatory  to  each 
new  display,  the  herald,  or  whatever  he  was,  behind 
the  chair  of  state,  gave  awful  notice  that  the  Right 
Honorable  the  Lord  Mayor  was  about  to  propose  a 
toast.  His  Lordship  being  happily  delivered  thereof, 
together  with  some  accompanying  remarks,  the  band 
played  an  appropriate  tune,  and  the  herald  again  is- 
sued proclamation  to  the  effect  that  such  or  such  a no- 
bleman, or  gentleman,  general,  dignified  clergyman,  or 
what  not,  was  going  to  respond  to  the  Right  Honor- 
able the  Lord  Mayor’s  toast ; then,  if  I mistake  not, 
there  was  another  prodigious  flourish  of  trumpets  and 
twanging  of  stringed  instruments ; and,  finally,  the 
doomed  individual,  waiting  all  this  while  to  be  decapi- 
tated, got  up  and  proceeded  to  make  a fool  of  himself. 
A bashful  young  earl  tried  his  maiden  oratory  on  the 
good  citizens  of  London,  and,  having  evidently  got 
every  word  by  heart  (even  including,  however  he 
managed  it,  the  most  seemingly  casual  improvisations 
of  the  moment),  he  really  spoke  like  a book,  and  made 
incomparably  the  smoothest  speech  I ever  heard  in 
England. 

The  weight  and  gravity  of  the  speakers,  not  only  on 
this  occasion,  but  all  similar  ones,  was  what  impressed 
me  as  most  extraordinary,  not  to  say  absurd.  Why 


CIVIC  BANQUETS, 


397 


should  people  eat  a good  dinner,  and  put  their  spirits 
into  festive  trim  with  Champagne,  and  afterwards  mel- 
low themselves  into  a most  enjoyable  state  of  quietude 
with  copious  libations  of  Sherry  and  old  Port,  and 
then  disturb  the  whole  excellent  result  by  listening  to 
speeches  as  heavy  as  an  after-dinner  nap,  and  in  no 
degree  so  refreshing  ? If  the  Champagne  had  thrown 
its  sparkle  over  the  surface  of  these  effusions,  or  if 
the  generous  Port  had  shone  through  their  substance 
with  a ruddy  glow  of  the  old  English  humor,  I might 
have  seen  a reason  for  honest  gentlemen  prattling  in 
their  cups,  and  should  undoubtedly  have  been  glad  to 
be  a listener.  But  there  was  no  attempt  nor  impulse 
of  the  kind  on  the  part  of  the  orators,  nor  apparent 
expectation  of  such  a phenomenon  on  that  of  the  au- 
dience. In  fact,  I imagine  that  the  latter  were  best 
pleased  when  the  speaker  embodied  his  ideas  in  the 
figurative  language  of  arithmetic,  or  struck  upon  any 
hard  matter  of  business  or  statistics,  as  a heavy-laden 
bark  bumps  upon  a rock  in  mid-ocean.  The  sad  se- 
verity, the  too  earnest  utilitarianism,  of  modern  life, 
have  wrought  a radical  and  lamentable  change,  I am 
afraid,  in  this  ancient  and  goodly  institution  of  civic 
banquets.  People  used  to  come  to  them,  a few  hun- 
dred years  ago,  for  the  sake  of  being  jolly  ; they  come 
now  with  an  odd  notion  of  pouring  sober  wisdom  into 
their  wine  by  way  of  wormwood-bitters,  and  thus  make 
such  a mess  of  it  that  the  wine  and  wisdom  recipro- 
cally spoil  one  another. 

Possibly,  the  foregoing  sentiments  have  taken  a 
spice  of  acridity  from  a circumstance  that  happened 
about  this  stage  of  the  feast,  and  very  much  inter- 
rupted my  own  further  enjoyment  of  it.  Up  to  this 
time,  my  condition  had  been  exceedingly  felicitous, 


898 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


both  on  account  of  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene,  and  be 
cause  I was  in  close  proximity  with  three  very  pleas- 
ant English  friends.  One  of  them  was  a lady,  whose 
honored  name  my  readers  would  recognize  as  a house- 
hold word,  if  I dared  write  it ; another,  a gentleman, 
likewise  well  known  to  them,  whose  fine  taste,  kind 
heart,  and  genial  cultivation  are  qualities  seldom  mixed 
in  such  happy  proportion  as  in  him.  The  third  was 
the  man  to  whom  I owed  most  in  England,  the  warm 
benignity  of  whose  nature  was  never  weary  of  doing 
me  good,  who  led  me  to  many  scenes  of  life,  in  town, 
camp,  and  country,  which  I never  could  have  found 
out  for  myself,  who  knew  precisely  the  kind  of  help  a 
stranger  needs,  and  gave  it  as  freely  as  if  he  had  not 
had  a thousand  more  important  things  to  live  for. 
Thus  I never  felt  safer  or  cosier  at  anybody’s  fireside, 
even  my  own,  than  at  the  dinner  - table  of  the  Lord 
Mayor. 

Out  of  this  serene  sky  came  a thunderbolt.  His 
Lordship  got  up  and  proceeded  to  make  some  very  eu- 
logistic remarks  upon  the  literary  and  commercial  ” 
— I question  whether  those  two  adjectives  were  ever 
before  married  by  a copulative  conjunction,  and  they 
certainly  would  not  live  together  in  illicit  intercourse, 
of  their  own  accord  — ‘‘  the  literary  and  commercial 
attainments  of  an  eminent  gentleman  there  present,” 
and  then  went  on  to  speak  of  the  relations  of  blood 
and  interest  between  Great  Britain  and  the  aforesaid 
eminent  gentleman’s  native  country.  , Those  bonds 
were  more  intimate  than  had  ever  before  existed  be- 
tween two  great  nations,  throughout  all  history,  and 
his  Lordship  felt  assured  that  that  whole  honorable 
company  would  join  him  in  the  expression  of  a fervent 
wish  that  they  might  be  held  inviolably  sacred,  on  both 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


399 


Bides  of  the  Atlantic,  now  and  forever.  Then  came 
the  same  wearisome  old  toast,  dry  and  hard  to  chew 
upon  as  a musty  sea-biscuit,  which  had  been  the  text 
of  nearly  all  the  oratory  of  my  public  career.  The 
herald  sonorously  announced  that  Mr.  So-and-so  would 
now  respond  to  his  Right  Honorable  Lordship’s  toast 
and  speech,  the  trumpets  sounded  the  customary  flour- 
ish for  the  onset,  there  was  a thunderous  rumble  of 
anticipatory  applause,  and  finally  a deep  silence  sank 
upon  the  festive  hall. 

All  this  was  a horrid  piece  of  treachery  on  the 
Lord  Mayor’s  part,  after  beguiling  me  yvithin  his  lines 
on  a pledge  of  safe  - conduct ; and  it  seemed  very 
strange  that  he  could  not  let  an  unobtrusive  individual 
eat  his  dinner  in  peace,  drink  a small  sample  of  the 
Mansion  House  wine,  and  go  away  grateful  at  heart 
for  the  old  English  hospitality.  If  his  Lordship  had 
sent  me  an  infusion  of  ratsbane  in  the  loving-cup,  I 
should  have  taken  it  much  more  kindly  at  his  hands. 
But  I suppose  the  secret  of  the  matter  to  have  been 
somewhat  as  follows. 

All  England,  just  then,  was  in  one  of  those  singular 
fits  of  panic  excitement  (not  fear,  though  as  sensitive 
and  tremulous  as  that  emotion),  which,  in  consequence 
of  the  homogeneous  character  of  the  people,  their  in- 
tense patriotism,  and  their  dependence  for  their  ideas 
in  public  affairs  on  other  sources  than  their  own  ex- 
amination and  individual  thought,  are  more  sudden, 
pervasive,  and  unreasoning  than  any  similar  mood  of 
our  own  public.  In  truth,  I have  never  seen  the 
American  public  in  a state  at  all  similar,  and  believe 
that  we  are  incapable  of  it.  Our  excitements  are  not 
impulsive,  like  theirs,  but,  right  or  wrong,  are  moral 
and  intellectual.  For  example,  the  grand  rising  of 


400 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


the  North,  at  the  commencement  of  this  war,  bore  the 
aspect  of  impulse  and  passion  only  because  it  was  so 
universal,  and  necessarily  done  in  a moment,  just  as 
the  quiet  and  simultaneous  getting-up  of  a thousand 
people  out  of  their  chairs  would  cause  a tumult  that 
might  be  mistaken  for  a storm.  We  were  cool  then, 
and  have  been  cool  ever  since,  and  shall  remain  cool 
to  the  end,  which  we  shall  take  coolly,  whatever  it 
may  be.  There  is  nothing  which  the  English  find  it 
so  difficult  to  understand  in  us  as  this  characteristic. 
They  imagine  us,  in  our  collective  capacity,  a kind  of 
wild  beast,  whose  normal  condition  is  savage  fury,  and 
are  always  looking  for  the  moment  when  we  shall 
break  through  the  slender  barriers  of  international 
law  and  comity,  and  compel  the  reasonable  part  of  the 
w^orld,  with  themselves  at  the  head,  to  combine  for  the 
purpose  of  putting  us  into  a stronger  cage.  At  times 
this  apprehension  becomes  so  powerful  (and  when  one 
man  feels  it,  a million  do),  that  it  resembles  the  pas- 
sage of  the  wind  over  a broad  field  of  grain,  where  you 
see  the  whole  crop  bending  and  swaying  beneath  one 
impulse,  and  each  separate  stalk  tossing  with  the  self- 
same disturbance  as  its  myriad  companions.  At  such 
periods  all  Englishmen  talk  with  a terrible  identity  of 
sentiment  and  expression.  You  have  the  whole  coun- 
try in  each  man  ; and  not  one  of  them  all,  if  you  put 
him  strictly  to  the  question,  can  give  a reasonable 
ground  for  his  alarm.  There  are  but  two  nations  in 
the  world — our  own  country  and  France  — that  can 
put  England  into  this  singular  state.  It  is  the  united 
sensitiveness  of  a people  extremely  well-to-do,  careful 
of  their  country’s  honor,  most  anxious  for  the  preser- 
vation of  the  cumbrous  and  moss-grown  prosperity 
which  they  have  been  so  long  in  consolidating,  and  in- 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


401 


competent  (owing  to  the  national  half-sightedness,  and 
their  habit  of  trusting  to  a few  leading  minds  for  their 
public  opinion)  to  judge  when  that  prosperity  is  really 
threatened. 

If  the  English  were  accustomed  to  look  at  the  for- 
eign side  of  any  international  dispute,  they  might 
easily  have  satisfied  themselves  that  there  was  very 
little  danger  of  a war  at  that  particular  crisis,  from 
the  simple  circumstance  that  their  own  Government 
had  positively  not  an  inch  of  honest  ground  to  stand 
upon,  and  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  of  the  fact. 
Neither  could  they  have  met  Parliament  with  any 
show  of  a justification  for  incurring  war.  It  was  no 
such  perilous  juncture  as  exists  now,  when  law  and 
right  are  really  controverted  on  sustainable  or  plausi- 
ble grounds,  and  a naval  commander  may  at  any  mo- 
ment fire  off  the  first  cannon  bf  a terrible  contest.  If 
I remember  it  correctly,  it  was  a mere  diplomatic 
squabble,  in  which  the  British  ministers,  with  the 
politic  generosity  which  they  are  in  the  habit  of  show- 
ing towards  their  official  subordinates,  had  tried  to 
browbeat  us  for  the  purpose  of  sustaining  an  ambas- 
sador in  an  indefensible  proceeding ; and  the  Ameri- 
ican  Government  (for  God  had  not  denied  us  an  ad- 
ministration of  statesmen  then)  had  retaliated  with 
stanch  courage  and  exquisite  skill,  putting  inevitably 
a cruel  mortification  upon  their  opponents,  but  indulg- 
ing them  with  no  pretence  whatever  for  active  resent- 
ment. 

Now  the  Lord  Mayor,  like  any  other  Englishman, 
probably  fancied  that  W ar  was  on  the  western  gale, 
and  was  glad  to  lay  hold  of  even  so  insignificant  an 
American  as  myself,  who  might  be  made  to  harp  on 
the  rusty  old  strings  of  national  sympathies,  identity 

VOL.  VII.  26 


402 


CIVIC  BANCtUETS. 


of  blood  and  Interest,  and  community  of  language  and 
literature,  and  whisper  peace  where  there  was  no 
peace,  in  however  weak  an  utterance.  And  possibly 
his  Lordship  thought,  in  his  wisdom,  that  the  good 
feeling  which  was  sure  to  be  expressed  by  a company 
of  well-bred  Englishmen,  at  his  august  and  far-famed 
dinner-table,  might  have  an  appreciable  influence  on 
the  grand  result.  Thus,  when  the  Lord  Mayor  in- 
vited me  to  his  feast,  it  was  a piece  of  strategy.  He 
wanted  to  induce  me  to  fling  myself,  like  a lesser  Cur- 
tins, with  a larger  object  of  self  - sacrifice,  into  the 
chasm  of  discord  between  England  and  America,  and, 
on  my  ignominious  demur,  had  resolved  to  shove  me 
in  with  his  own  right-honorable  hands,  in  the  hope  of 
closing  up  the  horrible  pit  forever.  On  the  whole,  I 
forgive  his  Lordship.  He  meant  well  by  all  parties, 
— himself,  who  would  share  the  glory,  and  me,  who 
ought  to  have  desired  nothing  better  than  such  an  he- 
roic opportunity,  — his  own  country,  which  would 
continue  to  get  cotton  and  breadstuffs,  and  mine, 
which  would  get  everything  that  men  work  with  and 
wear. 

As  soon  as  the  Lord  Mayor  began  to  speak,  1 
rapped  upon  my  mind,  and  it  gave  forth  a hollow 
sound,  being  absolutely  empty  of  appropriate  ideas. 
I never  thought  of  listening  to  the  speech,  because  I 
knew  it  all  beforehand  in  twenty  repetitions  from 
other  lips,  and  was  aware  that  it  would  not  offer  a 
single  suggestive  point.  In  this  dilemma,  I turned 
to  one  of  my  three  friends,  a gentleman  whom  I knew 
to  possess  an  enviable  flow  of  silver  speech,  and  ob- 
tested him,  by  whatever  he  deemed  holiest,  to  give  me 
at  least  an  available  thought  or  two  to  start  with,  and, 
once  afloat,  I would  trust  my  guardian-angel  for  ena^ 


CIVIC  BANQUETS. 


403 


bling  me  to  flounder  ashore  again.  He  advised  me 
to  begin  with  some  remarks  complimentary  to  the 
Lord  Mayor,  and  expressive  of  the  hereditary  rev- 
erence in  which  his  office  was  held,  — at  least,  my 
friend  thought  that  there  would  be  no  harm  in  giving 
his  Lordship  this  little  sugar-plum,  whether  quite  the 
fact  or  no,  — was  held  by  the  descendants  of  the  Pu= 
ritan  forefathers.  Thence,  if  I liked,  getting  flexible 
with  the  oil  of  my  own  eloquence,  I might  easily  slide 
off  into  the  momentous  subject  of  the  relations  be- 
tween England  and  America,  to  which  his  Lordship 
had  made  such  weighty  allusion. 

Seizing  this  handful  of  straw  with  a death-grip,  and 
bidding  my  three  friends  bury  me  honorably,  I got 
upon  my  legs  to  save  both  countries,  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  The  tables  roared  and  thundered  at  me, 
and  suddenly  were  silent  again.  But,  as  I have  never 
happened  to  stand  in  a position  of  greater  dignity  and 
peril,  I deem  it  a stratagem  of  sage  policy  here  to 
close  these  Sketches,  leaving  myself  still  erect  in  xso 
heroic  an  attitude. 


PASSAGES 


FROM 

THE  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS 

OF 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


To 

FRANCIS  BENNOCH,  Esq., 

The  dear  and  valued  friend,  who,  by  his  generous  and  genial  hospitality 
and  unfailing  sympatliy,  contributed  so  largely  (as  is  attested  by  the 
book  itself)  to  render  Mr.  Hawthorne’s  residence  in  England  agreeable 
and  homelike,  these  English  Notes  are  dedicated,  with  sincere  respect 
and  regard,  by 


THE  EDITOR. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


THE  ENGLISH  NOTE~BOOKS. 

Little  comment  is  needed  in  reference  to  the 
‘‘  English  Note-Books,”  besides  that  which  Mrs.  Haw- 
thorne made  on  first  introducing  them  to  the  public. 
They  wei’e  the  result  of  Hawthorne’s  residence  abroad, 
on  being  appointed  Consul  at  Liverpool,  by  President 
Pierce.  In  1857,  just  before  leaving  England  for 
the  Continent,  Hawthorne,  in  writing  to  Mr.  Fields, 
spoke  of  them  as  follows  : — 

‘‘  I made  up  a huge  package  the  other  day,  consist- 
ing of  seven  closely  written  volumes  of  journal,  kept 
by  me  since  my  arrival  in  England,  and  filled  with 
sketches  of  places  and  men  and  manners,  many  of 
which  would  doubtless  be  very  delightful  to  the  pub- 
lic. I think  I shall  seal  them  up,  with  directions  in 
my  will  to  have  them  opened  and  published  a century 
hence  ; and  your  firm  shall  have  the  refusal  of  them 
then.” 

The  jesting  tone  of  these  sentences  shows  clearly 
enough  that  he  really  had  no  intention  of  arranging 
for  the  publication  of  the  Notes  after  his  death ; and, 
in  fact,  he  left  no  instructions  concerning  them.  But 
Mrs.  Hawthorne,  in  the  Preface  which  follows  the 
present  editor’s  brief  paragraphs,  has  explained  the 
motives  which  led  her  to  place  her  husband’s  journals 


408 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE, 


before  the  reading  public.  His  object  in  writing  them 
was  to  preserve  for  his  own  use,  and  the  freshening 
of  his  recollection,  those  keen  but  fleeting  impressions 
which  are  caused  by  the  first  contact  with  new  scenes 
and  persons,  and  never  can  be  set  forth  with  their 
original  vividness  unless  promptly  embodied  in  writ= 
ing.  Portions  of  the  current  record  which  Hawthorne 
so  carefully  preserved  were  afterwards  recast  and  utih 
ized  in  the  chapters  of  “ Our  Old  Home  ” ; and,  had  he 
lived  longer,  further  material  from  them  would  very 
likely  have  been  introduced  into  his  finished  work. 
Among  the  papers  left  by  him  bearing  on  Septimius 
Felton,”  was  a list  of  references,  with  the  dates,  to 
passages  in  his  English  journals,  containing  matter 
which  he  probably  thought  would  prove  suggestive 
and  useful  when  he  should  come  to  that  part  of  the 
contemplated  romance  which  was  to  enact  itself  amid 
English  surroundings. 

Although  the  English  Note-Books  ” are  not  so 
abundant  in  imaginative  hints  as  the  American,  their 
range  of  topic  and  observation  is  wider,  and  they 
show  how  readily  the  author,  who  had  lived  as  a 
recluse  at  home,  adapted  himself  to  society,  to  the 
obligations  which  his  public  position  and  his  fame 
brought  upon  him.  The  larger  intercourse  with  the 
world  which  he  enjoyed  in  England  was,  indeed,  much 
to  his  taste,  notwithstanding  the  resolute  devotion  to 
solitude  that  he  maintained  in  America,  where  the 
conditions  seem  to  have  been  less  well  suited  for 
bringing  him  into  association  with  others,  and  left 
him  to  follow  the  dictates  of  an  inborn  reserve  and 
shyness.  Mrs.  Hawthorne  has  expressed  the  hope 
that  her  husband’s  Note-Books  might  dispel  the  often- 
expressed  opinion  that  he  was  gloomy  or  morbid ; and 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


409 


doubtless  they  have  had,  in  a measure,  this  effect. 
The  cheerful  tone,  blending  with  or  rising  above  his 
natural  pensiveness,  is  very  noticeable  in  the  pres- 
ent volumes  ; and  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  observing  how  it 
gained  in  strength  instead  of  diminishing  with  age, 
once  expressed  to  the  writer  of  these  lines  the  belief 
that,  had  Hawthorne  survived  in  full  health  to  a 
riper  age,  he  would  have  written  more  than  he  did 
in  the  genial  strain  of  Our  Old  Home,”  which  had 
long  before  voiced  itself  in  the  Introduction  to  the 
Mosses.” 


G.  P.  L. 


PREFACE. 


It  seems  justly  due  to  Mr.  Hawthorne  that  the  oo 
casion  of  any  portion  of  his  private  journals  being 
brought  before  the  Public  should  be  made  known, 
since  they  were  originally  designed  for  his  own  refer- 
ence only. 

There  had  been  a constant  and  an  urgent  demand 
for  a life  or  memoir  of  Mr.  Hawthorne  ; yet,  from 
the  extreme  delicacy  and  difficulty  of  the  subject,  the 
Editor  felt  obliged  to  refuse  compliance  with  this  de- 
mand. Moreover,  Mr.  Hawthorne  had  frequently  and 
emphatically  expressed  the  hope  that  no  one  would  at- 
tempt to  write  his  Biography;  and  the  Editor  per- 
ceived that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  person,  out- 
side of  his  own  domestic  circle,  to  succeed  in  doing  it, 
on  account  of  his  extreme  reserve.  But  it  was  ungra- 
cious to  do  nothing,  and  therefore  the  Editor,  believ- 
ing that  Mr.  Hawthorne  himself  was  alone  capable  of 
satisfactorily  answering  the  affectionate  call  for  some 
sketch  of  his  life,  concluded  to  publish  as  much  au 
possible  of  his  private  records,  and  even  extracts  from 
his  private  letters,  in  order  to  gratify  the  desire  of 
his  friends  and  of  literary  artists  to  become  more  in- 
timately acquainted  with  him.  The  Editor  has  been 
severely  blamed  and  wondered  at,  in  some  instances, 
for  allowing  many  things  now  published  to  see  the 


412 


PREFACE. 


light ; but  it  has  been  a matter  both  of  conscience 
and  courtesy  to  withhold  nothing  that  could  be  given 
up.  Many  of  the  journals  were  doubtless  destroyed ; 
for  the  earliest  date  found  in  his  American  papers 
was  that  of  1835. 

The  Editor  has  transcribed  the  manuscripts  just  as 
they  were  left,  without  making  any  new  arrangement 
or  altering  any  sequence,  — merely  omitting  some  pas* 
sages,  and  being  especially  careful  to  preserve  what* 
ever  could  throw  any  light  upon  his  character.  To 
persons  on  a quest  for  characteristics,  however,  each 
of  his  books  reveals  a great  many,  and  it  is  believed 
that  with  the  aid  of  the  Notes  (both  American  and 
English)  the  Tales  and  Romances  will  make  out  a 
very  complete  and  true  picture  of  his  individuality ; 
and  the  Notes  are  often  an  open  sesame  to  the  artistic 
works. 

Several  thickly  written  pages  of  observations  — fine 
and  accurate  etchings — have  been  omitted,  sometimes 
because  too  personal  with  regard  to  himself  or  others, 
and  sometimes  because  they  were  afterwards  absorbed 
into  one  or  another  of  the  Romances  or  papers  in 
‘‘  Our  Old  Home.”  It  seemed  a pity  not  to  give  these 
original  cartoons  fresh  from  his  mind,  because  they 
are  so  carefully  finished  at  the  first  stroke.  Yet,  as 
Mr.  Hawthorne  chose  his  own  way  of  presenting  them 
to  the  public,  it  was  thought  better  not  to  exhibit 
what  he  himself  withheld.  Besides,  to  any  other  than 
a fellow-artist,  they  might  seem  mere  repetitions. 

It  is  very  earnestly  hoped  that  these  volumes  of 
Notes — American,  English,  and  presently  Italian — 
will  dispel  an  often-expressed  opinion  that  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne was  gloomy  and  morbid.  He  had  the  inevita* 
ble  pensiveness  and  gravity  of  a person  who  possessed 


PREFACE, 


413 


what  a friend  of  his  called  ‘‘  the  awful  power  of  in* 
sight  ” ; but  his  mood  was  always  cheerful  and  equal, 
and  his  mind  peculiarly  healthful,  and  the  airy  splen- 
dor of  his  wit  and  humor  was  the  light  of  his  homOo 
He  saw  too  far  to  be  despondent,  though  his  vivid  sym- 
pathies and  shaping  imagination  often  made  him  sad 
in  behalf  of  others.  He  also  perceived  morbidness, 
wherever  it  existed,  instantly,  as  if  by  the  illumina- 
tion of  his  own  steady  cheer ; and  he  had  the  plastic 
power  of  putting  himself  into  each  person’s  situation, 
and  of  looking  from  every  point  of  view,  which  made 
his  charity  most  comprehensive.  From  this  cause  he 
necessarily  attracted  confidences,  and  became  con- 
fessor to  very  many  sinning  and  suffering  souls,  to 
whom  he  gave  tender  sympathy  and  help,  while  re- 
signing judgment  to  the  Omniscient  and  All-wise. 

Throughout  his  journals  it  will  be  seen  that  Mr. 
Hawthorne  is  entertaining,,  and  not  asserting,,  opin- 
ions and  ideas.  He  questions,  doubts,  and  refiects 
with  his  pen,  and,  as  it  were,  instructs  himself.  So 
that  these  Note-Books  should  be  read,  not  as  definitive 
conclusions  of  his  mind,  but  merely  as  passing  impres- 
sions often.  Whatever  conclusions  he  arrived  at  are 
condensed  in  the  works  given  to  the  world  by  his  own 
hand,  in  which  will  never  be  found  a careless  word. 
He  was  so  extremely  scrupulous  about  the  value  and 
effect  of  every  expression,  that  the  Editor  has  felt 
great  compunction  in  allowing  a single  sentence  to 
be  printed  unrevised  by  himself  ; but,  with  the  con- 
sideration of  the  above  remarks  always  kept  in  mind, 
these  volumes  are  intrusted  to  the  generous  interpre- 
tation of  the  reader.  If  any  one  must  be  harshly  critk 
cised,  it  ought  certainly  to  be  the  Editor. 


414 


PREFACE, 


When  a person  breaks  in,  unannounced,  upon  the 
morning  hours  of  an  artist,  and  finds  him  not  in  full 
dress,  the  intruder,  and  not  the  surprised  artist,  is 
doubtless  at  fault. 


Dresden,  Aprils  1870. 


s,  a 


PASSAGES  FROM 


HAWTHORNE’S  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


Liverpool,  August  1853.  — A month  lacking 
two  days  since  we  left  America,  — a fortnight  and 
some  odd  days  since  we  arrived  in  England.  I began 
my  services,  such  as  they  are,  on  Monday  last,  August 
1st,  and  here  I sit  in  my  private  room  at  the  Consu- 
late, while  the  Vice-Consul  and  clerk  are  carrying  on 
affairs  in  the  outer  office. 

• •••••••• 

The  pleasantest  incident  of  the  morning  is  when 
Mr.  Pearce  (the  Vice-Consul)  makes  his  appearance 
with  the  account-books,  containing  the  receipts  and 
expenditures  of  the  preceding  day,  and  deposits  on  my 
desk  a little  rouleau  of  the  Queen’s  coin,  wrapped  up 
in  a piece  of  paper.  This  morning  there  were  eight 
sovereigns,  four  half-crowns,  and  a shilling,  — a pretty 
fair  day’s  work,  though  not  more  than  the  average 
ought  to  be.  This  forenoon,  thus  far,  I have  had  two 
calls,  not  of  business,  — one  from  an  American  cap- 
tain and  his  son,  another  from  Mr.  H B , 

whom  I met  in  America,  and  who  has  showed  us  great 
attention  here.  He  has  arranged  for  us  to  go  to  the 
theatre  with  some  of  his  family  this  evening. 

Since  I have  been  in  Liverpool  we  have  hardly  had 


416 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


a day,  until  yesterday,  without  more  or  less  of  rain, 
and  so  cold  and  shivery  that  life  was  miserable.  I am 
not  warm  enough  even  now,  but  am  gradually  getting 
acclimated  in  that  respect. 

J ust  now  1 have  been  fooled  out  of  half  a crown  by 
a young  woman,  who  represents  herself  as  an  Amerb 
can  and  destitute,  having  come  over  to  see  an  uncle 
whom  she  found  dead,  and  she  has  no  means  of  get- 
ting back  again.  Her  accent  is  not  that  of  an  Ameri- 
can, and  her  appearance  is  not  particularly  preposses- 
sing, though  not  decidedly  otherwise.  She  is  decently 
dressed  and  modest  in  deportment,  but  I do  not  quite 
trust  her  face.  She  has  been  separated  from  her  hus- 
band, as  I understand  her,  by  course  of  law ; has  had 
two  children,  both  now  dead.  What  she  wants  is  to 
get  back  to  America,  and  perhaps  arrangements  may 
be  made  with  some  shipmaster  to  take  her  as  steward- 
ess, or  in  some  subordinate  capacity.  My  judgment, 
on  the  whole,  is  that  she  is  an  English  woman,  married 
to  and  separated  from  an  American  husband,  — of  no 
very  decided  virtue.  I might  as  well  have  kept  my 
half-crown,  and  yet  I might  have  bestowed  it  worse. 
She  is  very  decent  in  manner,  cheerful,  at  least  not 
despondent. 

At  two  o’clock  I went  over  to  the  Royal  Rock 
Hotel,  about  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes’  steaming  from 
this  side  of  the  river.  We  are  going  there  on  Satur- 
day to  reside  for  a while.  Returning  I found  that 
Mr.  B.,  from  the  American  Chamber  of  Commerce, 
had  called  to  arrange  the  time  and  place  of  a visit  to 
the  Consul  from  a delegation  of  that  body.  Settled 
for  to-morrow  at  quarter  past  one  at  Mr.  Blodgett’s. 

August  bth.  — An  invitation  this  morning  fronj 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


417 


the  Mayor  to  dine  at  the  Town  Hall  on  Friday  next. 
Heaven  knows  I had  rather  dine  at  the  humblest  inn 
in  the  city,  inasmuch  as  a speech  will  doubtless  be  ex- 
pected from  me.  However,  things  must  be  as  they 
may. 

At  quarter  past  one  I was  duly  on  hand  at  Mr. 
Blodgett’s  to  receive  the  deputation  from  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce.  They  arrived  pretty  seasonably,  in  two 
or  three  carriages,  and  were  ushered  into  the  drawing- 
room, — seven  or  eight  gentlemen,  some  of  whom  I 
had  met  before.  Hereupon  ensued  a speech  from  Mr. 
B.,  the  Chairman  of  the  delegation,  short  and  sweet, 
alluding  to  my  literary  reputation  and  other  laudatory 
matters,  and  occupying  only  a minute  or  two.'  The 
speaker  was  rather  embarrassed,  which  encouraged  me 
a little,  and  yet  I felt  more  diffidence  on  this  occasion 
than  in  my  effort  at  Mr.  Crittenden’s  lunch,  where,  in- 
deed, I was  perfectly  self-possessed.  But  here,  there 
being  less  formality,  and  more  of  a conversational 
character  in  what  was  said,  my  usual  diffidence  could 
not  so  well  be  kept  in  abeyance.  However,  I did  not 
break  down  to  an  intolerable  extent,  and,  winding  up 
my  eloquence  as  briefly  as  possible,  we  had  a social 
talk.  Their  whole  stay  could  not  have  been  much 
more  than  a quarter  of  an  hour. 

A call,  this  morning,  at  the  Consulate,  from  Dr. 
Bowring,  who  is  British  minister,  or  something  of  the 
kind,  in  China,  and  now  absent  on  a twelvemonth’s 
leave.  The  Doctor  is  a brisk  person,  with  the  address 
of  a man  of  the  world,  — free,  quick  to  smile,  and  of 
agreeable  manners.  He  has  a good  face,  rather  Amer- 
ican than  English  in  aspect,  and  does  not  look  much 
above  fifty,  though  he  says  he  is  between  sixty  and 

VOL.  VII.  27 


418  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

seventy.  I should  take  him  rather  for  an  active  law- 
yer or  a man  of  business  than  for  a scholar  and  a lit- 
erary man.  He  talked  in  a lively  way  for  ten  or  fif- 
teen minutes,  and  then  took  his  leave,  offering  me  any 
service  in  his  power  in  London,  — as,  for  instance,  to 
introduce  me  to  the  Athenaeum  Club. 

August  8th,  — Day  before  yesterday  I escorted  my 
family  to  Rock  Ferry,  two  miles  either  up  or  down  the 
Mersey  (and  I really  don’t  know  which)  by  steamer, 
which  runs  every  half-hour.  There  are  steamers  go- 
ing continually  to  Birkenhead  and  other  landings,  and 
almost  always  a great  many  passengers  on  the  transit. 
At  this  time  the  boat  was  crowded  so  as  to  afford 
scanty  standing-room  ; it  being  Saturday,  and  there- 
fore a kind  of  gala-day.  I think  I have  never  seen  a 
populace  before  coming  to  England;  but  this  crowd 
afforded  a specimen  of  one,  both  male  and  female. 
The  women  were  the  most  remarkable ; though  they 
seemed  not  disreputable,  there  was  in  them  a coarse- 
ness, a freedom,  an  — I don’t  know  what,  that  was 
purely  English.  In  fact,  men  and  women  here  do 
things  that  would  at  least  make  them  ridiculous  in 
America.  They  are  not  afraid  to  enjoy  themselves 
in  their  own  way,  and  have  no  pseudo-gentility  to 
support.  Some  girls  danced  upon  the  crowded  deck, 
to  the  miserable  music  of  a little  fragment  of  a 
band  which  goes  up  and  down  the  river  on  each  trip 
of  the  boat.  Just  before  the  termination  of  the  voy- 
age a man  goes  round  with  a bugle  turned  upwards  to 
receive  the  eleemosynary  pence  and  half-pence  of  the 
passengers.  I gave  one  of  them,  the  other  day,  a siL 
ver  fourpence,  which  fell  into  the  vitals  of  the  instru 
ment,  and  compelled  the  man  to  take  it  to  pieces. 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


419 


At  Rock  Ferry  there  was  a great  throng,  forming  a 
scene  not  unlike  one  of  our  muster-days  or  a Fourth 
of  July,  and  there  were  bands  of  music  and  banners, 
and  small  processions  after  them,  and  a school  of  char- 
ity children,  I believe,  enjoying  a festival.  And  there 
was  a club  of  respectable  persons,  playing  at  bowls  on 
the  bowling-green  of  the  hotel,  and  there  were  chil- 
dren, infants,  riding  on  donkeys  at  a penny  a ride, 
while  their  mothers  walked  alongside  to  prevent  a fall. 
Yesterday,  while  we  were  at  dinner,  Mr.  B.  came  in 
his  carriage  to  take  us  to  his  residence,  Poulton  Hall. 
He  had  invited  us  to  dine ; but  I misunderstood  him, 
and  thought  he  only  intended  to  give  us  a drive. 
Poulton  Hall  is  about  three  miles  from  Rock  Ferry, 
the  road  passing  through  some  pleasant  rural  scenery, 
and  one  or  two  villages,  with  houses  standing  close  to- 
gether, and  old  stone  or  brick  cottages,  with  thatched 
roofs,  and  now  and  then  a better  mansion,  apart 
among  trees.  We  passed  an  old  church,  with  a tower 
and  spire,  and,  half-way  up,  a patch  of  ivy,  dark 
green,  and  some  yellow  wall-flowers,  in  full  bloom, 
growing  out  of  the  crevices  of  the  stone.  Mr.  B.  told 
us  that  the  tower  was  formerly  quite  clothed  with  ivy 
from  bottom  to  top,  but  that  it  had  fallen  away  for 
lack  of  the  nourishment  that  it  used  to  find  in  the 
lime  between  the  stones.  This  old  church  answered 
to  my  Transatlantic  fancies  of  England  better  than 
anything  I have  yet  seen.  Not  far  from  it  was  the 
Rectory,  behind  a deep  grove  of  ancient  trees  ; and 
there  lives  the  Rector,  enjoying  a thousand  pounds  a 
year  and  his  iiothing-to-do,  while  a curate  performs 
the  real  duty  on  a stipend  of  eighty  pounds. 

We  passed  through  a considerable  extent  of  private 
road,  and  finally  drove  over  a lawn,  studded  with  trees 


420 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


and  closely  shaven,  till  we  reached  the  door  of  Poulton 

Hall.  Part  of  the  mansion  is  three  or  four  hundred 

• 

years  old ; another  portion  is  about  a hundred  and 
fifty,  and  still  another  has  been  built  during*  the  pres- 
ent generation.  The  house  is  two  stories  high,  with  a 
sort  of  beetle-browed  roof  in  front.  It  is  not  very 
striking,  and  does  not  look  older  than  many  wooden 
houses  which  I have  seen  in  America.  There  is  a 
curious  stately  staircase,  with  a twisted  balustrade, 
much  like  that  of  the  old  Province  House  in  Boston. 
The  drawing-room  is  a handsome  modern  apartment, 
being  beautifully  painted  and  gilded  and  paper-hung, 
with  a white  marble  fireplace  and  rich  furniture,  so 
that  the  impression  is  that  of  newness,  not  of  age.  It 
is  the  same  with  the  dining-room,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  interior  so  far  as  I saw  it. 

Mr.  B.  did  not  inherit  this  old  hall,  nor,  indeed,  is 
he  the  owner,  but  only  the  tenant  of  it.  He  is  a mer- 
chant of  Liverpool,  a bachelor,  with  two  sisters  resid- 
ing with  him.  In  the  entrance-hall,  there  was  a 
stuffed  fox  with  glass  eyes,  which  I never  should  have 
doubted  to  be  an  actual  live  fox  except  for  his  keeping 
so  quiet ; also  some  grouse  and  other  game.  Mr.  B. 
seems  to  be  a sportsman,  and  is  setting  out  this  week 
on  an  excursion  to  Scotland,  moor-fowl  shooting. 

While  the  family  and  two  or  three  guests  went  to 
dinner,  we  walked  out  to  see  the  place.  The  gardener, 
an  Irishman,  showed  us  through  the  garden,  which  is 
large  and  well  cared  for.  They  certainly  get  every- 
thing from  Nature  which  she  can  possibly  be  per- 
suaded to  give  them,  here  in  England.  There  were 
peaches  and  pears  growing  against  the  high  brick 
southern  walls,  — the  trunk  and  branches  of  the  trees 
being  spread  out  perfectly  flat  against  the  wall,  very 


1858.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


421 


much  like  the  skin  of  a dead  animal  nailed  up  to  dry, 
and  not  a single  branch  protruding.  Figs  were  grow- 
ing in  the  same  way.  The  brick  wall,  very  probably, 
was  heated  within,  by  means  of  pipes,  in  order  to  re- 
enforce the  insufficient  heat  of  the  sun.  It  seems  as 
if  there  must  be  something  unreal  and  unsatisfactory 
in  fruit  that  owes  its  existence  to  such  artificial  meth- 
ods. Squashes  were  growing  under  glass,  poor  things  ! 
There  were  immensely  large  gooseberries  in  the  gar- 
den ; and  in  this  particular  berry,  the  English,  I be- 
lieve, have  decidedly  the  advantage  over  ourselves. 
The  raspberries,  too,  were  large  and  good.  I espied 
one  gigantic  hog-weed  in  the  garden  ; and,  really,  my 
heart  warmed  to  it,  being  strongly  reminded  of  the 
principal  product  of  my  own  garden  at  Concord.  Af- 
ter viewing  the  garden  sufficiently,  the  gardener  led  us 
to  other  parts  of  the  estate,  and  we  had  glimpses  of  a 
delightful  valley,  its  sides  shady  with  beautiful  trees, 
and  a rich,  grassy  meadow  at  the  bottom.  By  means 
of  a steam  - engine  and  subterranean  pipes  and  hy- 
drants, the  liquid  manure  from  the  barn-yard  is  dis- 
tributed wherever  it  is  wanted  over  the  estate,  being 
spouted  in  rich  showers  from  the  hydrants.  Under 
this  influence,  the  meadow  at  the  bottom  of  the  val- 
ley had  already  been  made  to  produce  three  crops  of 
grass  during  the  present  season,  and  would  produce 
another. 

The  lawn  around  Poulton  Hall,  like  thousands  of 
other  lawns  in  England,  is  very  beautiful,  but  requires 
great  care  to  keep  it  so,  being  shorn  every  three  or 
four  days.  No  other  country  will  ever  have  this 
charm,  nor  the  charm  of  lovely  verdure,  which  almost 
makes  up  for  the  absence  of  sunshine.  Without  the 


422  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

constant  rain  and  shadow  which  strikes  us  as  so  dis- 
mal, these  lawns  would  be  as  brown  as  an  autumn 
leaf.  I have  not,  thus  far,  found  any  such  magnifi- 
cent trees  as  I expected.  Mr.  B.  told  me  that  three 
oaks,  standing  in  a row  on  his  lawn,  were  the  largest 
in  the  county.  They  were  very  good  trees,  to  be  sure, 
and  perhaps  four  feet  in  diameter  near  the  ground, 
but  with  no  very  noble  spread  of  foliage.  In  Concord 
there  are,  if  not  oaks,  yet  certainly  elms,  a great  deal 
more  stately  and  beautiful.  But,  on  the  whole,  this 
lawn,  and  the  old  Hall  in  the  midst  of  it,  went  a good 
way  towards  realizing  some  of  my  fancies  of  English 
life. 

By  and  by  a footman,  looking  very  quaint  and 
queer  in  his  livery  coat,  drab  breeches,  and  white 
stockings,  came  to  invite  me  to  the  table,  where  I 
found  Mr.  B.  and  his  sisters  and  guests  sitting  at  the 
fruit  and  wine.  There  were  port,  sherry,  madeira, 
and  one  bottle  of  claret,  all  very  good ; but  they  take 
here  much  heavier  wines  than  we  drink  now  in  Amer- 
ica. After  a tolerably  long  session  we  went  to  the  tea- 
room, where  I drank  some  coffee,  and  at  about  the 
edge  of  dusk  the  carriage  drew  up  to  the  door  to  take 
us  home.  Mr.  B.  and  his  sisters  have  shown  us  genu- 
ine kindness,  and  they  gave  us  a hearty  invitation  to 
come  and  ramble  over  the  house  whenever  we  pleased, 
during  their  absence  in  Scotland.  They  say  that 
there  are  many  legends  and  ghost-stories  connected 
with  the  house ; and  there  is  an  attic  chamber,  with 
a skylight,  which  is  called  the  Martyr’s  chamber,  from 
the  fact  of  its  having,  in  old  times,  been  tenanted  by 
a lady,  who  was  imprisoned  there,  and  persecuted  to 
death  for  her  religion.  There  is  an  old  black  letter 
library,  but  the  room  containing  it  is  shut,  barred,  and 


LIVERPOOL. 


423 


1853.] 


padlocked,  — the  owner  of  the  house  refusing  to  let  it 
be  opened,  lest  some  of  the  books  should  be  stolen. 
Meanwhile  the  rats  are  devouring  them,  and  the 
damps  destroying  them. 


August  — A pretty  comfortable  day,  as  to 
warmth,  and  I believe  there  is  sunshine  overhead ; but 
a sea-cloud,  composed  of  fog  and  coal-smoke,  envelops 
Liverpool.  At  Rock  Ferry,  when  I left  it  at  half  past 
nine,  there  was  promise  of  a cheerful  day.  A good 
many  gentlemen  (or,  rather,  respectable  business  peo- 
ple) came  in  the  boat,  and  it  is  not  unpleasant,  on  these 
fine  mornings,  to  take  the  breezy  atmosphere  of  the 
river.  The  huge  steamer.  Great  Britain,  bound  for 
Australia,  lies  right  off  the  Rock  Ferry  landing ; and 
at  a little  distance  are  two  old  hulks  of  ships  of  war, 
dismantled,  roofed  over,  and  anchored  in  the  river, 
formerly  for  quarantine  purposes,  but  now  used  chiefly 
or  solely  as  homes  for  old  seamen,  whose  light  labor  it 
is  to  take  care  of  these  condemned  ships.  There  are 
a great  many  steamers  plying  up  and  down  the  river 
to  various  landings  in  the  vicinity  ; and  a good  many 
steam-tugs ; also,  many  boats,  most  of  which  have 
dark-red  or  tan-colored  sails,  being  oiled  to  resist  the 
wet ; also,  here  and  there,  a yacht,  or  pleasure-boat, 
and  a few  ships  riding  stately  at  their  anchors,  prob- 
ably on  the  point  of  sailing.  The  river,  however,  is 
by  no  means  crowded ; because  the  immense  multitude 
of  ships  are  ensconced  in  the  docks,  where  their  masts 
make  an  intricate  forest  for  miles  up  and  down  the 
Liverpool  shore.  The  small,  black  steamers,  whizzing 
industriously  along,  many  of  them  crowded  with  pas- 
sengers, make  up  the  chief  life  of  the  scene.  The  Mer- 
sey has  the  color  of  a mud-puddle,  and  no  atmospheric 


424 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 

effect,  as  far  as  I have  seen,  ever  gives  it  a more  agree- 
able  tinge. 

Visitors  to-day,  thus  far,  have  been  H.  A.  B.,  with 
whom  I have  arranged  to  dine  with  us  at  Rock  Ferry, 
and  then  he  is  to  take  us  on  board  the  Great  Britain, 
of  which  his  father  is  owner  (in  great  part).  Sec- 
ondly, Monsieur  H.,  the  French  Consul,  who  can  speak 
hardly  any  English,  and  who  was  more  powerfully 
scented  with  cigar-smoke  than  any  man  I ever  encoun- 
tered ; a polite,  gray-haired,  red-nosed  gentleman,  very 
courteous  and  formal.  Heaven  keep  him  from  me ! 

At  one  o’clock,  or  thereabouts,  I walked  into  the 
city,  down  through  Lord  Street,  Church  Street,  and 
back  to  the  Consulate,  through  various  untraceable 
crookednesses.  Coming  to  Chapel  Street,  I crossed 
the  graveyard  of  the  old  Church  of  St.  Nicholas.  This 
is,  I suppose,  the  oldest  sacred  site  in  Liverpool,  a 
church  having  stood  here  ever  since  the  Conquest, 
though,  probably,  there  is  little  or  nothing  of  the  old 
edifice  in  the  present  one,  either  the  whole  of  the  edi- 
fice or  else  the  steeple,  being  thereto  shaken  by  a 
chime  of  bells,  — or  perhaps  both,  at  different  times, 
- — has  tumbled  down  ; but  the  present  church  is  what 
we  Americans  should  call  venerable.  When  the  first 
church  was  built,  and  long  afterwards,  it  must  have 
stood  on  the  grassy  verge  of  the  Mersey  ; but  now 
there  are  pavements  and  warehouses,  and  the  thronged 
Prince’s  and  George’s  Docks,  between  it  and  the  river; 
and  all  around  it  is  the  very  busiest  bustle  of  com- 
merce, rumbling  wheels,  hurrying  men,  porter-shops, 
everything  that  pertains  to  the  grossest  and  most  prac- 
tical life.  And,  notwithstanding,  there  is  the  broad 
churchyard  extending  on  three  sides  of  it,  just  as  it 
used  to  be  a thousand  years  ago.  It  is  absolutely 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


425 


paved  from  border  to  border  with  flat  tombstones,  on 
a level  with  the  soil  and  with  each  other,  so  that  it  is 
one  floor  of  stone  over  the  whole  space,  with  grass  here 
and  there  sprouting  between  the  crevices.  Ail  these 
stones,  no  doubt,  formerly  had  inscriptions  ; but,  as 
many  people  continually  pass,  in  various  directions, 
across  the  churchyard,  and  as  the  tombstones  are  not 
of  a very  hard  material,  the  records  on  many  of  them 
are  effaced.  T saw  none  very  old.  A quarter  of  a 
century  is  sufficient  to  obliterate  the  letters,  and  make 
all  smooth,  where  the  direct  pathway  from  gate  to  gate 
lies  over  the  stones.  The  climate  and  casual  footsteps 
rub  out  any  inscription  in  less  than  a hundred  years. 
Some  of  the  monuments  are  cracked.  On  many  is 
merely  cut  The  burial-place  of  ” so  and  so  ; on  oth- 
ers there  is  a long  list  of  half-readable  names ; on 
some  few  a laudatory  epitaph,  out  of  which,  however, 
it  were  far  too  tedious  to  pick  the  meaning.  But  it 
really  is  interesting  and  suggestive  to  think  of  this  old 
church,  first  built  when  Liverpool  was  a small  village, 
and  remaining,  with  its  successive  dead  of  ten  centuries 
around  it,  now  that  the  greatest  commercial  city  in  the 
world  has  its  busiest  centre  there.  I suppose  people 
still  continue  to  be  buried  in  the  cemetery.  The  great- 
est upholders  of  burials  in  cities  are  those  whose  pro- 
genitors have  been  deposited  around  or  within  the  city 
churches.  If  this  spacious  churchyard  stood  in  a sim- 
ilar position  in  one  of  our  American  cities,  I rather 
suspect  that  long  ere  now  it  would  have  run  the  risk 
of  being  laid  out  in  building-lots,  and  covered  with 
warehouses  ; even  if  the  church  itself  escaped,  — but  it 
would  not  escape  longer  than  till  its  disrepair  afforded 
excuse  for  tearing  it  down>  And  why  should  it,  when 
Its  purposes  might  be  better  served  in  another  spot  ? 


426 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1858. 


We  went  on  board  the  Great  Britain  before  dinner, 
between  five  and  six  o’clock,  — a great  structure,  as 
to  convenient  arrangement  and  adaptation,  but  giving 
me  a strong  impression  of  the  tedium  and  misery  of 
the  long  voyage  to  Australia.  By  way  of  amusement, 
she  takes  over  fifty  pounds’  worth  of  playing-cards,  at 
two  shillings  per  pack,  for  the  use  of  passengers ; also, 
a small,  well  - selected  library.  After  a considerable 
time  spent  on  board,  we  returned  to  the  hotel  and 
dined,  and  Mr.  B.  took  his  leave  at  nine  o’clock. 

August  10th.  — I left  Eock  Ferry  for  the  city  at 
half  past  nine.  In  the  boat  which  arrived  thence,  there 
were  several  men  and  women  with  baskets  on  their 
heads,  for  this  is  a favorite  way  of  carrying  burdens  ; 
and  they  trudge  onward  beneath  them,  without  any 
apparent  fear  of  an  overturn,  and  seldom  putting  up 
a hand  to  steady  them.  One  woman,  this  morning, 
had  a heavy  load  of  crockery ; another,  an  immense 
basket  of  turnips,  freshly  gathered,  that  seemed  to  me 
as  much  as  a man  could  well  carry  on  his  back.  These 
must  be  a stiff-necked  people.  The  women  step  stur- 
dily and  freely,  and  with  not  ungraceful  strength.  The 
trip  over  to  town  was  pleasant,  it  being  a fair  morn- 
ing, only  with  a low-hanging  fog.  Had  it  been  in 
America,  I should  have  anticipated  a day  of  burning 
heat. 

Visitors  this  morning.  Mr.  Ogden,  of  Chicago,  or 
somewhere  in  the  Western  States,  who  arrived  in  Eng- 
land  a fortnight  ago,  and  who  called  on  me  at  fha.t 
time.  He  has  since  been  in  Scotland,  and  is  now  going 
to  London  and  the  Continent ; secondly,  the  Captain 
of  the  Collins’s  steamer  Pacific,  which  sails  to-day  \ 
thirdly,  an  American  shipmaster,  who  complained  that 


LIVERPOOL. 


1853.] 


427 


he  had  never,  in  his  heretofore  voyages,  been  able  to 
get  sight  of  the  American  Consul. 

Mr.  Pearce’s  customary  matutinal  visit  was  unusu- 
ally agreeable  to-day,  inasmuch  as  he  laid  on  my  desk 
nineteen  golden  sovereigns  and  thirteen  shillings.  It 
being  the  day  of  the  steamer’s  departure,  an  unusual 
number  of  invoice  certificates  had  been  required,  — 
my  signature  to  each  of  which  brings  me  two  dollars. 

The  autograph  of  a living  author  has  seldom  been  so 
much  in  request  at  so  respectable  a price.  Colonel 
Crittenden  told  me  that  he  had  received  as  much  as 
fifty  pounds  on  a single  day.  Heaven  prosper  the 
trade  between  America  and  Liverpool ! 


August  \htli.  — Many  scenes  which  I should  have 
liked  to  record  have  occurred ; but  the  pressure  of 
business  has  prevented  me  from  recording  them  from 
day  to  day. 

On  Thursday  I went,  on  invitation  from  Mr.  B.,  to 
the  prodigious  steamer  Great  Britain,  down  the  har- 
bor, and  some  miles  into  the  sea,  to  escort  her  off  a 
little  way  on  her  voyage  to  Australia.  There  is  an 
immense  enthusiasm  among  the  English  people  about 
this  ship,  on  account  of  its  being  the  largest  in  the 
world.  The  shores  were  lined  with  people  to  see  her 
sail,  and  there  were  innumerable  small  steamers, 
crowded  with  men,  all  the  way  out  into  the  ocean. 
Nothing  seems  to  touch  the  English  nearer  than  this 
question  of  nautical  superiority ; and  if  we  wish  to  hit 
them  to  the  quick,  we  must  hit  them  there. 

On  Friday,  at  7 p.  m.,  I went  to  dine  with  the 
Mayor,  It  was  a dinner  given  to  the  Judges  and  the 
Grand  Jury.  The  Judges  of  England,  during  the 
time  of  holding  an  Assize,  are  the  persons  first  in 


428 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


rank  in  the  kingdom.  They  take  precedence  of  every- 
body else,  — of  the  highest  military  officers,  of  the 
Lord  Lieutenants,  of  the  Archbishops,  — of  the  Prince 
of  W ales,  — of  all  except  the  Sovereign,  whose  author- 
ity and  dignity  they  represent.  In  case  of  a royal 
dinner,  the  Judge  would  lead  the  Queen  to  the  table. 

The  dinner  was  at  the  Town  Hall,  and  the  rooms 
and  the  whole  affair  were  all  in  the  most  splendid 
style.  Nothing  struck  me  more  than  the  footmen  in 
the  city  livery.  They  really  looked  more  magnificent 
in  their  gold-lace  and  breeches  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings than  any  officers  of  state.  The  rooms  were  beau- 
tiful ; gorgeously  painted  and  gilded,  gorgeously 
lighted,  gorgeously  hung  with  paintings,  — the  plhte 
was  gorgeous,  and  the  dinner  gorgeous  in  the  English 
fashion. 

After  the  removal  of  the  cloth  the  Mayor  gave  vari- 
ous toasts,  prefacing  each  with  some  remarks,  — the 
first,  of  course,  the  Sovereign,  after  which  ‘‘God  save 
the  Queen  ” was  sung,  the  company  standing  up  and 
joining  in  the  chorus,  their  ample  faces  glowing  with 
wine,  enthusiasm,  and  loyalty.  Afterwards  the  Bar, 
and  various  other  dignities  and  institutions,  were 
toasted  ; and  by  and  by  came  the  toast  to  the  United 
States,  and  to  me,  as  their  Representative.  Here- 
upon either  “ Hail  Columbia,”  or  “ Yankee  Doodle,” 
or  some  other  of  our  national  tunes  (but  Heaven 
knows  which),  was  played ; and  at  the  conclusion, 
being  at  bay,  and  with  no  alternative,  I got  upon  my 
legs,  and  made  a response.  They  received  me  and 
iistened  to  my  nonsense  with  a good  deal  of  rapping, 
and  my  speech  seemed  to  give  great  satisfaction  ; my 
chief  difficulty  being  in  not  knowing  how  to  pitch  my 
voice  to  the  size  of  the  room.  As  for  the  matter,  it  is 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


429 


not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  Anybody  may  make 
an  after-dinner  speech  who  will  be  content  to  talk  on- 
ward without  saying  anything.  My  speech  was  not 
more  than  two  or  three  inches  long  ; and,  considering 
that  I did  not  know  a soul  there,  except  the  Mayor 
himself,  and  that  I am  wholly  unpractised  in  all  sorts 
of  oratory,  and  that  I had  nothing  to  say,  it  was  quite 
successful.  I hardly  thought  it  was  in  me,  but,  be- 
ing once  started,  I felt  no  embarrassment,  and  went 
through  it  as  coolly  as  if  I were  going  to  be  hanged. 

Yesterday,  after  dinner,  1 took  a walk  with  my 
family.  W e went  through  by-ways  and  private  roads, 
and  saw  more  of  rural  England,  with  its  hedge-rows, 
its  grassy  fields,  and  its  whitewashed  old  stone  cot- 
tages, than  we  have  before  seen  since  our  arrival. 

August  20th,  — This  being  Saturday,  there  early 
commenced  a throng  of  visitants  to  Rock  Ferry.  The 
boat  in  which  I came  over  brought  from  the  city  a 
multitude  of  factory  - people.  They  had  bands  of 
music,  and  banners  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the 
mills  they  belong  to,  and  other  devices  : pale-looking 
people,  but  not  looking  exactly  as  if  they  were  under- 
fed. They  are  brought  on  reduced  terms  by  the  rail- 
ways and  steamers,  and  come  from  great  distances  in 
the  interior.  These,  I believe,  were  from  Preston.  I 
have  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  how  they 
amuse  themselves  during  these  excursions. 

At  the  dock,  the  other  day,  the  steamer  arrived 
from  Rock  Ferry  with  a countless  multitude  of  little 
girls,  in  coarse  blue  gowns,  who,  as  they  landed, 
formed  in  procession,  and  walked  up  the  dock.  These 
girls  had  been  taken  from  the  workhouses  and  edu- 
cated at  a charity-school,  and  would  by  and  by  be  ap- 


430 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


prenticed  as  servants.  I should  not  have  conceived  it 
possible  that  so  many  children  could  have  been  col- 
lected together,  without  a single  trace  of  beauty  or 
scarcely  of  intelligence  in  so  much  as  one  individual ; 
such  mean,  coarse,  vulgar  features  and  figures  betray- 
ing unmistakably  a low  origin,  and  ignorant  and  bru- 
tal parents.  They  did  not  appear  wicked,  but  only 
stupid,  animal,  and  soulless.  It  must  require  many 
generations  of  better  life  to  wake  the  soul  in  theme 
All  America  could  not  show  the  like. 

August  22c7.  — A Captain  Auld,  an  American,  hav- 
ing died  here  yesterday,  I went  with  my  clerk  and  an 
American  shipmaster  to  take  the  inventory  of  his  ef- 
fects. His  boarding-house  was  in  a mean  street,  an 
old  dingy  house,  with  narrow  entrance,  — the  class  of 
boarding-house  frequented  by  mates  of  vessels,  and  in- 
ferior to  those  generally  patronized  by  masters.  A fat 
elderly  landlady,  of  respectable  and  honest  aspect,  and 
her  daughter,  a pleasing  young  woman  enough,  re- 
ceived us,  and  ushered  us  into  the  deceased’s  bed- 
chamber. It  was  a dusky  backroom,  plastered  and 
painted  yellow ; its  one  window  looking  into  the  very 
narrowest  of  backyards  or  courts,  and  out  on  a con- 
fused multitude  of  back  buildings,  appertaining  to 
other  houses,  most  of  them  old,  with  rude  chimneys 
of  wash-rooms  and  kitchens,  the  bricks  of  which 
seemed  half  loose. 

The  chattels  of  the  dead  man  were  contained  in  two 
trunks,  a chest,  a sail-cloth  bag,  and  a barrel,  and  con- 
sisted of  clothing,  suggesting  a thickset,  middle-sized 
man  ; papers  relative  to  ships  and  business,  a spyglass, 
a loaded  iron  pistol,  some  books  of  navigation,  some 
charts,  several  great  pieces  of  tobacco,  and  a few 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


431 


cigars  ; some  little  plaster  images,  that  he  had  prob- 
ably bought  for  his  children,  a cotton  umbrella,  and 
other  trumpery  of  no  great  value.  In  one  of  the 
trunks  we  found  about  twenty  pounds’  worth  of  Eng- 
lish and  American  gold  and  silver,  and  some  notes  of 
hand,  due  in  America.  Of  all  these  things  the  clerk 
made  an  inventory  ; after  which  we  took  possession  of 
the  money,  and  affixed  the  consular  seal  to  the  trunks, 
bag,  and  chest. 

While  this  was  going  on,  we  heard  a great  noise 
of  men  quarrelling  in  an  adjoining  court  ; and,  alto- 
gether, it  seemed  a squalid  and  ugly  place  to  live  in, 
and  a most  undesirable  one  to  die  in.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  our  labors,  the  young  woman  asked  us  if  we 
would  not  go  into  another  chamber,  and  look  at  the 
corpse,  and  appeared  to  think  that  we  should  be  rather 
glad  than  otherwise  of  the  privilege.  But,  never  hav- 
ing seen  the  man  during  his  lifetime,  I declined  to 
commence  his  acquaintance  now. 

His  bills  for  board  and  nursing  amount  to  about 
the  sum  which  we  found  in  his  trunk  ; his  funeral  ex- 
penses will  be  ten  pounds  more  ; the  surgeon  has  sent 
in  a bill  of  eight  pounds,  odd  shillings  ; and  the  ac- 
count of  another  medical  man  is  still  to  be  rendered. 
As  his  executor,  I shall  pay  his  landlady  and  nurse  ; 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  expenses,  a subscription  must 
be  made  (according  to  the  custom  in  such  cases) 
among  the  shipmasters,  headed  by  myself.  The  fu- 
neral pomp  will  consist  of  a hearse,  one  coach,  four 
men,  with  crape  hatbands,  and  a few  other  items,  to- 
gether with  a grave  at  five  pounds,  over  which  his 
friends  will  be  entitled  to  place  a stone,  if  they  choose 
to  do  so,  within  twelve  months. 

As  we  left  the  house,  we  looked  into  the  dark  and 


432 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


squalid  dining-room,  where  a lunch  of  cold  meat  was 
set  out ; but  having  no  associations  with  the  house  ex- 
cept through  this  one  dead  man,  it  seemed  as  if  his 
presence  and  attributes  pervaded  it  wholly.  He  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a man  of  reprehensible  habits, 
though  well  advanced  in  years.  1 ought  not  to  forget 
a brandy-flask  (empty)  among  his  other  effects.  The 
landlady  and  daughter  made  a good  impression  on  me, 
as  honest  and  respectable  persons. 

August  24^4.  — Yesterday,  in  the  forenoon,  I re- 
ceived a note,  and  shortly  afterwards  a call  at  the 

Consulate,  from  Miss  H , whom  I apprehend  to 

be  a lady  of  literary  tendencies.  She  said  that  Miss 
L.  had  promised  her  an  introduction,  but  that,  hap- 
pening to  pass  through  Liverpool,  she  had  snatched  the 
opportunity  to  make  my  acquaintance.  She  seems  to 
be  a mature  lady,  rather  plain,  but  with  an  honest  and 
intelligent  face.  It  was  rather  a singular  freedom,  me- 
thinks,  to  come  down  upon  a perfect  stranger  in  this 
way,  — to  sit  with  him  in  his  private  office  an  hour 
Dr  two,  and  then  walk  about  the  streets  with  him  as 
she  did ; for  I did  the  honors  of  Liverpool,  and  showed 
her  the  public  buildings.  Her  talk  was  sensible,  but 
not  particularly  brilliant  nor  interesting ; a good,  solid 
personage,  physically  and  intellectually.  She  is  an 
English  woman. 

In  the  afternoon,  at  three  o’clock,  I attended  the  fu- 
neral of  Captain  Auld.  Being  ushered  into  the  din- 
ing-room of  his  boarding-house,  I found  brandy,  gin, 
and  wine  set  out  on  a tray,  together  with  some  little 
spice-cakes.  By  and  by  came  in  a woman,  who  asked 
if  I were  going  to  the  funeral ; and  then  proceeded  to 
put  a mourning-band  on  my  hat,  — a black-silk  band, 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


433 


covering  the  whole  hat,  and  streaming  nearly  a yard 
behind.  After  waiting  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  no- 
body else  appeared,  although  several  shipmasters  had 
promised  to  attend.  Hereupon,  the  undertaker  was 
anxious  to  set  forth ; but  the  landlady,  who  was  ar«= 
rayed  in  shining  black  silk,  thought  it  a shame  that 
the  poor  man  should  be  buried  with  such  small  at- 
tendance. So  we  waited  a little  longer,  during  which 
interval  I heard  the  landlady’s  daughter  sobbing  and 
wailing  in  the  entry ; and  but  for  this  tender-hearted- 
ness there  would  have  been  no  tears  at  all.  Finally 
we  set  forth,  — the  undertaker,  a friend  of  his,  and 
a young  man,  perhaps  the  landlady’s  son,  and  my- 
self, in  the  black-plumed  coach,  and  the  landlady,  her 
daughter,  and  a female  friend,  in  the  coach  behind. 
Previous  to  this,  however,  everybody  had  taken  some 
wine  or  spirits ; for  it  seemed  to  be  considered  disre- 
spectful not  to  do  so. 

Before  us  went  the  plumed  hearse,  a stately  affair, 
with  a bas-relief  of  funereal  figures  upon  its  sides.  We 
proceeded  quite  across  the  city  to  the  Necropolis,  where 
the  coffin  was  carried  into  a chapel,  in  which  we  found 
already  another  coffin,  and  another  set  of  mourners, 
awaiting  the  clergyman.  Anon  he  appeared,  — a stern, 
broad-framed,  large,  and  bald-headed  man,  in  a black- 
silk  gown.  He  mounted  his  desk,  and  read  the  service 
in  quite  a feeble  and  unimpressive  way,  though  with 
no  lack  of  solemnity.  This  done,  our  four  bearers  took 
up  the  coffin,  and  carried  it  out  of  the  chapel ; but  de- 
scending the  steps,  and,  perhaps,  having  taken  a little 
too  much  brandy,  one  of  them  stumbled,  and  down 
came  the  coffin,  — not  quite  to  the  ground,  however ; 
for  they  gra^ppled  with  it,  and  contrived,  with  a great 
struggle,  to  prevent  the  misadventure.  But  I really 

VOL.  VII.  28 


434  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

expected  to  see  poor  Captain  Auld  burst  forth  among 
us  in  his  grave-clothes. 

The  Necropolis  is  quite  a handsome  burial-place, 
shut  in  by  high  walls,  so  overrun  with  shrubbery  that 
no  part  of  the  brick  or  stone  is  visible.  Part  of  the 
space  within  is  an  ornamental  garden,  with  flowers 
and  green  turf ; the  rest  is  strewn  with  flat  grave- 
stones, and  a few  raised  monuments;  and  straight 
avenues  run  to  and  fro  between.  Captain  Auld’s  grave 
was  dug  nine  feet  deep.  It  is  his  own  for  twelve 
months  ; but,  if  his  friends  do  not  choose  to  give  him 
a stone,  it  will  become  a common  grave  at  the  end  of 
that  time ; and  four  or  five  more  bodies  may  then  be 
piled  upon  his.  Every  one  seemed  greatly  to  admire 
the  grave  ; the  undertaker  praised  it,  and  also  the  dry- 
ness of  its  site,  which  he  took  credit  to  himself  for 
having  chosen.  The  grave-digger,  too,  was  very  proud 
of  its  depth,  and  the  neatness  of  his  handiwork.  The 
clergyman,  who  had  marched  in  advance  of  us  from 
the  chapel,  now  took  his  stand  at  the  head  of  the 
grave,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  proceeded  with  what  re- 
mained of  the  service,  while  we  stood  bareheaded 
around.  When  he  came  to  a particular  part,  ‘‘  ashes 
to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,”  the  undertaker  lifted  a hand- 
ful of  earth,  and  threw  it  rattling  on  the  coffin,  — so 
did  the  landlady’s  son,  and  so  did  I.  After  the  fu- 
neral the  undertaker’s  friend,  an  elderly,  coarse-look- 
ing  man,  looked  round  him,  and  remarked  that  the 
grass  had  never  grown  on  the  parties  who  died  in  the 
cholera  year  ” ; but  at  this  the  undertaker  laughed  in 
scorn. 

As  we  returned  to  the  gate  of  the  cemetery,  the  sex- 
ton met  us,  and  pointed  to  a small  office,  on  entering 
which  we  found  the  clergyman,  who  was  waiting  for 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


435 


his  burial-fees.  There  was  now  a dispute  between  the 
clergyman  and  the  undertaker  ; the  former  wishing  to 
receive  the  whole  amount  for  the  gravestone,  which 
the  undertaker,  of  course,  refused  to  pay.  I explained 
how  the  matter  stood  ; on  which  the  clergyman  ac- 
quiesced, civilly  enough ; but  it  was  very  strange  to 
see  the  worldly,  business-like  way  in  which  he  entered 
into  this  squabble,  so  soon  after  burying  poor  Captain 
Auld. 

During  our  drive  back  in  the  mourning-coach,  the 
undertaker,  his  friend,  and  the  landlady’s  son  still 
kept  descanting  on  the  excellence  of  the  grave,  — 
“ Such  a fine  grave,”  — Such  a nice  grave,”  — 
“ Such  a splendid  grave,”  — and,  really,  they  seemed 
almost  to  think  it  worth  while  to  die,  for  the  sake  of 
being  buried  there.  They  deemed  it  an  especial  pity 
that  such  a grave  should  ever  become  a common 
grave.  Why,”  said  they  to  me,  by  paying  the  ex- 
tra price  you  may  have  it  for  your  own  grave,  or  for 
your  family ! ” meaning  that  we  should  have  a right 
to  pile  ourselves  over  the  defunct  Captain.  I wonder 
how  the  English  ever  attain  to  any  conception  of  a 
future  existence,  since  they  so  overburden  themselves 
with  earth  and  mortality  in  their  ideas  of  funerals.  A 
drive  with  an  undertaker,  in  a sable-plumed  coach ! — 
talking  about  graves  ! — and  yet  he  was  a jolly  old 
fellow,  wonderfully  corpulent,  with  a smile  breaking 
out  easily  all  over  his  face,  — although,  once  in  a 
while,  he  looked  professionally  lugubrious. 

All  the  time  the  scent  of  that  horrible  mourning- 
coach  is  in  my  nostrils,  and  I breathe  nothing  but  a 
funeral  atmosphere. 


436  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853, 

Saturday.^  August  21th.  — This  being  the  gala-day 
of  the  manufacturing  people  about  Liverpool,  the 
steamboats  to  Rock  Ferry  were  seasonably  crowded 
with  large  parties  of  both  sexes.  They  were  aecom* 
panied  with  two  bands  of  music,  in  uniform  ; and 
these  bands,  before  I left  the  hotel,  were  playing,  in 
competition  and  rivalry  with  each  other  in  the  coach 
yard,  loud  martial  strains  from  shining  brass  instrm 
ments.  A prize  is  to  be  assigned  to  one  or  to  the 
other  of  these  bands,  and  I suppose  this  was  a part  of 
the  competition.  Meanwhile  the  merry-making  people 
who  thronged  the  court-yard  were  quaffing  coffee  from 
blue  earthen  mugs,  which  they  brought  with  them,  — 
as  likewise  they  brought  the  coffee,  and  had  it  made 
in  the  hotel. 

It  had  poured  with  rain  about  the  time  of  their  ar- 
rival, notwithstanding  which  they  did  not  seem  dis- 
heartened ; for,  of  course,  in  this  climate,  it  enters 
into  all  their  calculations  to  be  drenched  through  and 
through.  By  and  by  the  sun  shone  out,  and  it  has 
continued  to  shine  and  shade  every  ten  minutes  ever 
since.  All  these  people  were  decently  dressed ; the 
men  generally  in  dark  clothes,  not  so  smartly  as  Amer- 
icans on  a festal  day,  but  so  as  not  to  be  greatly  dif- 
ferent as  regards  dress.  They  were  paler,  smaller,  less 
wholesome -looking  and  less  intelligent,  and,  I think, 
less  noisy,  than  so  many  Yankees  would  have  been. 
The  women  and  girls  differed  much  more  from  what 
American  girls  and  women  would  be  on  a pleasure- 
excursion,  being  so  shabbily  dressed,  with  no  kind  of 
smartness,  no  silks,  nothing  but  cotton  gowns,  I be- 
lieve, and  ill-looking  bonnets,  — which,  however,  was 
the  only  part  of  their  attire  that  they  seemed  to  care 
about  guarding  from  the  rain.  As  to  their  persons, 


1853.] 


A WALK  TO  BEBBINGTON. 


437 


they  generally  looked  better  developed  and  healthier 
than  the  men  ; but  there  was  a woful  lack  of  beauty 
and  grace,  not  a pretty  girl  among  them,  all  coarse 
and  vulgar.  Their  bodies,  it  seems  to  me,  are  apt  to 
be  very  long  in  proportion  to  their  limbs,  — in  truth, 
this  kind  of  make  is  rather  characteristic  of  both  sexes 
in  England.  The  speech  of  these  folks,  in  some  in- 
stances, was  so  broad  Lancashire  that  I could  not  well 
understand  it. 


A WALK  TO  BEBBINGTON. 

Sock  Ferry ^ August  2^th,  — Yesterday  we  all  took 
a walk  into  the  country.  It  was  a fine  afternoon,  with 
clouds,  of  course,  in  different  parts  of  the  sky,  but 
a clear  atmosphere,  bright  sunshine,  and  altogether  a 
Septembrish  feeling.  The  ramble  was  very  pleasant 
along  the  hedge-lined  roads,  in  which  there  were  fiow- 
ers  blooming,  and  the  varnished  holly,  certainly  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  shrubs  in  the  world,  so  far  as  foli- 
age goes.  We  saw  one  cottage  which  I suppose  was 
several  hundred  years  old.  It  was  of  stone,  filled  into 
a wooden  frame,  the  black-oak  of  which  was  visible 
like  an  external  skeleton ; it  had  a thatched  roof,  and 
was  whitewashed.  We  passed  though  a village,  — 
Higher  Bebbington,  I believe,  — with  narrow  streets 
and  mean  houses,  all  of  brick  or  stone,  and  not  stand- 
ing wide  apart  from  each  other  as  in  American  coun- 
try villages,  but  conjoined.  There  was  an  immense 
almshouse  in  the  midst ; at  least,  I took  it  to  be  so. 
In  the  centre  of  the  village,  too,  we  saw  a moderate- 
sized  brick  house,  built  in  imitation  of  a castle  with  a 
tower  and  turret,  in  which  an  upper  and  an  under  row 
of  small  cannon  were  mounted,  — now  green  with 
moss.  ‘ There  were  also  battlements  along  the  roof  of 


438  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

the  house,  which  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  built 
eighty  or  a hundred  years  ago.  In  the  centre  of  it 
there  was  the  dial  of  a clock,  but  the  inner  machinery 
had  been  removed,  and  the  hands,  hanging  listlessly, 
moved  to  and  fro  in  the  wind.  It  was  quite  a novel 
symbol  of  decay  and  neglect.  On  the  wall,  close  to 
the  street,  there  were  certain  eccentric  inscriptions  cut 
into  slabs  of  stone,  but  I could  make  no  sense  of  them. 
At  the  end  of  the  house  opposite  the  turret,  we  peeped 
through  the  bars  of  an  iron  gate  and  beheld  a little 
paved  court-yard,  and  at  the  farther  side  of  it  a small 
piazza,  beneath  which  seemed  to  stand  the  figure  of  a 
man.  He  appeared  well  advanced  in  years,  and  was 
dressed  in  a blue  coat  and  buff  breeches,  with  a white 
or  straw  hat  on  his  head.  Behold,  too,  in  a kennel  be- 
side the  porch,  a large  dog  sitting  on  his  hind  legs, 
chained ! Also,  close  beside  the  gateway,  another  man, 
seated  in  a kind  of  arbor ! All  these  were  wooden 
images  ; and  the  whole  castellated,  small,  village 
dwelling,  with  the  inscriptions  and  the  queer  statuary, 
was  probably  the  whim  of  some  half -crazy  person,  who 
has  now,  no  doubt,  been  long  asleep  in  Bebbington 
churchyard. 

The  bell  of  the  old  church  was  ringing  as  we 
went  along,  and  many  respectable-looking  people  and 
cleanly  dressed  children  were  moving  towards  the 
sound.  Soon  we  reached  the  church,  and  I have  seen 
nothing  yet  in  England  that  so  completely  answered 
my  idea  of  what  such  a thing  was,  as  this  old  village 
church  of  Bebbington. 

It  is  quite  a large  edifice,  built  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  a low  peaked  porch  in  the  side,  over  which, 
rudely  cut  in  stone,  is  the  date  1300  and  something. 
1 he  steeple  has  ivy  on  it,  and  looks  old,  old,  old ; so 


1853.]  A WALK  TO  BEBBINGTON.  439 

does  the  whole  church,  though  portions  of  it  have  been 
renewed,  but  not  so  as  to  impair  the  aspect  of  heavy, 
substantial  endurance,  and  long,  long  decay,  which 
may  go  on  hundreds  of  years  longer  before  the  church 
is  a ruin.  There  it  stands,  among  the  surrounding 
graves,  looking  just  the  same  as  it  did  in  Bloody 
Mary’s  days  ; just  as  it  did  in  Cromwell’s  time.  A 
bird  (and  perhaps  many  birds)  had  its  nest  in  the 
steeple,  and  flew  in  and  out  of  the  loopholes  that  were 
opened  into  it.  The  stone  framework  of  the  windows 
looked  particularly  old. 

There  were  monuments  about  the  church,  some  lying 
flat  on  the  ground,  others  elevated  on  low  pillars,  or  on 
cross  slabs  of  stone,  and  almost  all  looking  dark,  moss- 
grown,  and  very  antique.  But  on  reading  some  of  the 
inscriptions,  I was  surprised  to  find  them  very  recent ; 
for,  in  fact,  twenty  years  of  this  climate  suffices  to 
give  as  much  or  more  antiquity  of  aspect,  whether  to 
gravestone  or  edifice,  than  a hundred  years  of  our  own, 
— so  soon  do  lichens  creep  over  the  surface,  so  soon 
does  it  blacken,  so  soon  do  the  edges  lose  their  sharp- 
ness, so  soon  does  Time  gnaw  away  the  records.  The 
only  really  old  monuments  (and  those  not  very  old) 
were  two,  standing  close  together,  and  raised  on  low 
rude  arches,  the  dates  on  which  were  1684  and  1686. 
On  one  a cross  was  rudely  cut  into  the  stone.  But 
there  may  have  been  hundreds  older  than  this,  the 
records  on  which  had  been  quite  obliterated,  and  the 
stones  removed,  and  the  graves  dug  over  anew.  None 
of  the  monuments  commemorate  people  of  rank  ; on 
only  one  the  buried  person  was  recorded  as  “ Gent.” 

While  we  sat  on  the  flat  slabs  resting  ourselves, 
several  little  girls,  healtky-looking  and  prettily  dressed 
enough,  came  into  the  churchyard,  and  began  to  talk 


440 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


and  laugh,  and  to  skip  merrily  from  one  tombstone  to 
another.  They  stared  very  broadly  at  us,  and  one  of 
them,  by  and  by,  ran  up  to  U.  and  J.,  and  gave  each 
of  them  a green  apple,  then  they  skipped  upon  the 
tombstones  again,  while,  within  the  church,  we  heard 
the  singing,  — sounding  pretty  much  as  I have  heard 
it  in  our  pine-built  New  England  meeting-houses. 
Meantime  the  rector  had  detected  the  voices  of  these 
naughty  little  girls,  and  perhaps  had  caught  glimpses 
of  them  through  the  windows ; for,  anon,  out  came  the 
sexton,  and,  addressing  himself  to  us,  asked  whether 
there  had  been  any  noise  or  disturbance  in  the  church- 
yard. I should  not  have  borne  testimony  against 
these  little  villagers,  but  S.  was  so  anxious  to  exoner- 
ate our  own  children  that  she  pointed  out  these  poor 
little  sinners  to  the  sexton,  who  forthwith  turned  them 
out.  He  would  have  done  the  same  to  us,  no  doubt, 
had  my  coat  been  worse  than  it  was ; but,  as  the  mat- 
ter stood,  his  demeanor  was  rather  apologetic  than 
menacing,  when  he  informed  us  that  the  rector  had 
sent  him. 

We  stayed  a little  longer,  looking  at  the  graves, 
some  of  which  were  between  the  buttresses  of  the 
church  and  quite  close  to  the  wall,  as  if  the  sleepers 
anticipated  greater  comfort  and  security  the  nearer 
they  could  get  to  the  sacred  edifice. 


As  we  went  out  of  the  churchyard,  we  passed  the 
aforesaid  little  girls,  who  were  sitting  behind  the 
mound  of  a tomb,  and  busily  babbling  together.  They 
called  after  us,  expressing  their  discontent  that  we  had 
betrayed  them  to  the  sexton,  and  saying  that  it  was 
not  they  who  made  the  noise.  Going  homeward,  we 
went  astray  in  a green  lane,  that  terminated  in  the 


1853.] 


THE  MERSEY. 


441 


midst  of  a field,  without  outlet,  so  that  we  had  to  re- 
trace a good  many  of  our  footsteps. 

Close  to  the  wall  of  the  church,  beside  the  door, 
there  was  an  ancient  baptismal  font  of  stone.  In  fact, 
it  was  a pile  of  roughly  hewn  stone  steps,  five  or  six 
feet  high,  with  a block  of  stone  at  the  summit,  in  which 
was  a hollow  about  as  big  as  a wash-bowl.  It  was  full 
of  rain-water. 

The  church  seems  to  be  St.  Andrew’s  Church,  Lower 
Bebbington,  built  in  1100. 

Septeinber  1st.  — To-day  we  leave  the  Rock  Ferry 
Hotel,  where  we  have  spent  nearly  four  weeks.  It  is 
a comfortable  place,  and  we  have  had  a good  table  and 
have  been  kindly  treated.  We  occupied  a large  par- 
lor, extending  through  the  whole  breadth  of  the  house, 
with  a bow-window,  looking  towards  Liverpool,  and 
adown  the  intervening  river,  and  to  Birkenhead,  on 
the  hither  side.  The  river  would  be  a pleasanter  ob- 
ject, if  it  were  blue  and  transparent,  instead  of  such 
a mud  - puddly  hue  ; also,  if  it  were  always  full  to  its 
brim ; whereas  it  generally  presents  a margin,  and 
sometimes  a very  broad  one,  of  glistening  mud,  with 
here  and  there  a small  vessel  aground  on  it. 

Nevertheless,  the  parlor-window  has  given  us  a pretty 
good  idea  of  the  nautical  business  of  Liverpool ; the 
constant  objects  being  the  little  black  steamers  puff- 
ing unquietly  along,  sometimes  to  our  own  ferry,  some- 
times beyond  it  to  Eastham,  and  sometimes  towing  a 
]ong  string  of  boats  from  Runcorn  or  otherwhere  up 
the  river,  laden  with  goods,  and  sometimes  gallanting 
a tall  ship  in  or  out.  Some  of  these  ships  lie  for  days 
together  in  the  river,  very  majestic  and  stately  ob- 
jects, often  with  the  flag  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes 


442 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


waving  over  them.  Now  and  then,  after  a gale  at  sea, 
a vessel  comes  in  with  her  masts  broken  short  off  in 
the  midst,  and  with  marks  of  rough  handling  about 
the  hull.  Once  a week  comes  a Cunard  steamer,  with 
its  red  funnel  pipe  whitened  by  the  salt  spray  ; and, 
firing  off  cannon  to  announce  her  arrival,  she  moors 
to  a large  iron  buoy  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  a 
few  hundred  yards  from  the  stone  pier  of  our  ferry. 
Immediately  comes  puffing  towards  her  a little  mail- 
steamer,  to  take  away  her  mail-bags  and  such  of  the 
passengers  as  choose  to  land ; and  for  several  hours 
afterwards  the  Cunard  lies  with  the  smoke  and  steam 
coming  out  of  her,  as  if  she  were  smoking  her  pipe 
after  her  toilsome  passage  across  the  Atlantic.  Once 
a fortnight  comes  an  American  steamer  of  the  Collins 
line  ; and  then  the  Cunard  salutes  her  with  cannon, 
to  which  the  Collins  responds,  and  moors  herself  to 
another  iron  buoy,  not  far  from  the  Cunard.  When 
they  go  to  sea,  it  is  with  similar  salutes  ; the  two  ves- 
sels paying  each  other  the  more  ceremonious  respect, 
because  they  are  inimical  and  jealous  of  each  other. 

Besides  these,  there  are  other  steamers  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes,  for  pleasure-excursions,  for  regular  trips  to 
Dublin,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  elsewhither ; and  ves- 
sels which  are  stationary,  as  floating  lights,  but  which 
seem  to  relieve  one  another  at  intervals  ; and  small 
vessels,  with  sails  looking  as  if  made  of  tanned  leather ; 
and  schooners,  and  yachts,  and  all  manner  of  odd- 
looking craft,  but  none  so  odd  as  the  Chinese  junk. 
This  junk  lies  by  our  own  pier,  and  looks  as  if  it  were 
copied  from  some  picture  on  an  old  teacup.  Beyond 
all  these  objects  we  see  the  other  side  of  the  Mersey, 
with  the  delectably  green  fields  opposite  to  us,  while 
the  shore  becomes  more  and  more  thickly  populated, 


1853.] 


ROCK  PARK. 


443 


until  about  two  miles  off  we  see  the  dense  centre  of  the 
city,  with  the  dome  of  the  Custom  House,  and  steeples 
and  towbrs ; and,  close  to  the  water,  the  spire  of  St, 
Nicholas ; and  above,  and  intermingled  with  the  whole 
city  scene,  the  duskiness  of  the  coal-smoke  gushing  up- 
ward. Along  the  bank  we  perceive  the  warehouses  of 
the  Albert  Dock,  and  the  Queen’s  tobacco  warehouses, 
and  other  docks,  and,  nigher  to  us,  a shipyard  or  two. 
In  the  evening  all  this  sombre  picture  gradually  dark- 
ens out  of  sight,  and  in  its  place  appear  only  the  lights 
of  the  city,  kindling  into  a galaxy  of  earthly  stars,  for 
a long  distance,  up  and  down  the  shore  ; and,  in  one  or 
two  spots,  the  bright  red  gleam  of  a furnace,  like  the 
red  planet  Mars  ” ; and  once  in  a while  a bright, 
wandering  beam  gliding  along  the  river,  as  a steamer 
comes  or  goes  between  us  and  Liverpool. 

ROCK  PARK. 

September  2d.  — We  got  into  our  new  house  in 
Rock  Park  yesterday.  It  is  quite  a good  house,  with 
three  apartments,  beside  kitchen  and  pantry  on  the 
lower  floor  ; and  it  is  three  stories  high,  with  four 
good  chambers  in  each  story.  It  is  a stone  edifice, 
like  almost  all  the  English  houses,  and  handsome  in 
its  design.  The  rent,  without  furniture,  would  prob- 
ably have  been  one  hundred  pounds ; furnished,  it  is 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  Rock  Park,  as  the 
locality  is  called,  is  private  property,  and  is  now 
nearly  covered  with  residences  for  professional  people, 
merchants,  and  others  of  the  upper  middling  class ; 
the  houses  being  mostly  built,  I suppose,  on  specula- 
tion, and  let  to  those  who  occupy  them.  It  is  the 
quietest  place  imaginable,  there  being  a police  station 
at  the  entrance,  and  the  officer  on  duty  allows  no 


444  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

ragged  or  ill-looking  person  to  pass.  There  being  a 
toll,  it  precludes  all  unnecessary  passage  of  carriages  ; 
and  never  were  there  more  noiseless  streets  thta  those 
that  give  access  to  these  pretty  residences.  On  either 
side  there  is  thick  shrubbery,  with  glimpses  through 
it  of  the  ornamented  portals,  or  into  the  trim  gardens 
with  smooth-shaven  lawns,  of  no  large  extent,  but 
still  affording  reasonable  breathing-space.  They  are 
really  an  improvement  on  anything,  save  what  the 
very  rich  can  enjoy,  in  America.  The  former  occu- 
pants of  our  house  (Mrs.  Campbell  and  family)  hav- 
ing been  fond  of  flowers,  there  are  many  rare  varie- 
ties in  the  garden,  and  we  are  told  that  there  is 
scarcely  a month  in  the  year  when  a flower  will  not 
be  found  there. 

The  house  is  respectably,  though  not  very  elegantly, 
furnished.  It  was  a dismal,  rainy  day  yesterday,  and 
we  had  a coal-fire  in  the  sitting-room,  beside  which  I 
sat  last  evening  as  twilight  came  on,  and  thought, 
rather  sadly,  how  many  times  we  have  changed  our 
home  since  we  were  married.  In  the  first  place,  our 
three  years  at  the  Old  Manse ; then  a brief  residence 
at  Salem,  then  at  Boston,  then  two  or  three  years  at 
Salem  again  ; then  at  Lenox,  then  at  West  Newton, 
and  then  again  at  Concord,  where  we  imagined  that 
we  were  fixed  for  life,  but  spent  only  a year.  Then 
this  farther  flight  to  England,  where  we  expect  to 
spend  four  years,  and  afterwards  another  year  or  two 
in  Italy,  during  all  which  time  we  shall  have  no  real 
home.  For,  as  I sat  in  this  English  house,  with  the 
chill,  rainy  English  twilight  brooding  over  the  lawn, 
and  a coal-fire  to  keep  me  comfortable  on  the  first 
evening  of  September,  and  the  picture  of  a stranger 
— the  dead  husband  of  Mrs.  Campbell  — gazing  down 


LIVERPOOL. 


445 


1853.] 


at  me  from  above  the  mantel-piece,  — I felt  that  I 
never  should  be  quite  at  home  here.  Nevertheless, 
the  fire  was  very  comfortable  to  look  at,  and  the 
shape  of  the  fireplace  — an  arch,  with  a deep  cavity 
— was  an  improvement  on  the  square,  shallow  open- 
ing of  an  American  coal-grate. 


September  ItJi.  — It  appears  by  the  annals  of  Liver- 
pool, contained  in  Gore’s  Directory,  that  in  1076  there 
was  a baronial  castle  built  by  Roger  de  Poictiers  on 
the  site  of  the  present  St.  George’s  Church.  It  was 
taken  down  in  1721.  The  church  now  stands  at  one 
of  the  busiest  points  of  the  principal  street  of  the 
city.  The  old  Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  founded  about 
the  time  of  the  Conquest,  and  more  recently  rebuilt, 
stood  within  a quarter  of  a mile  of  the  castle. 

In  1150,  Birkenhead  Priory  was  founded  on  the 
Cheshire  side  of  the  Mersey.  The  monks  used  to  ferry 
passengers  across  to  Liverpool  until  1282,  when 
Woodside  Ferry  was  established,  — twopence  for  a 
horseman,  and  a farthing  for  a foot-passenger.  Steam 
ferry-boats  now  cross  to  Birkenhead,  Monk’s  Ferry, 
and  Woodside  every  ten  minutes ; and  I believe  there 
are  large  hotels  at  all  these  places,  and  many  of  the 
business  men  of  Liverpool  have  residences  in  them. 

In  1252  a tower  was  built  by  Sir  John  Stanley, 
which  continued  to  be  a castle  of  defence  to  the  Stan- 
ley family  for  many  hundred  years,  and  was  not  finally 
taken  down  till  1820,  when  its  site  had  become  the 
present  Water  Street,  in  the  densest  commercial  cen- 
tre of  the  city. 

There  appear  to  have  been  other  baronial  castles 
and  residences  in  different  parts  of  the  city,  as  a hall 
in  old  Hall  Street,  built  by  Sir  John  de  la  More,  on 


446 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


the  site  of  which  a counting-house  now  stands.  This 
knightly  family  of  De  la  More  sometimes  supplied 
mayors  to  the  city,  as  did  the  family  of  the  Earls  of 
Derby. 

About  1582,  Edward,  Earl  of  Derby,  maintained 
two  hundred  and  fifty  citizens  of  Liverpool,  fed  sixty 
aged  persons  twice  a day,  and  provided  twenty  seven 
hundred  persons  with  meat,  drink,  and  money  every 
Good  Friday. 

In  1644,  Prince  Rupert  besieged  the  town  for 
twenty-four  days,  and  finally  took  it  by  storm.  This 
was  June  26th,  and  the  Parliamentarians,  under  Sir 
John  Meldrum,  repossessed  it  the  following  October. 

In  1669,  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool  kept  an  inn. 

In  1730,  there  was  only  one  carriage  in  town,  and 
no  stage-coach  came  nearer  than  W arrington,  the 
roads  being  impassable. 

In  1734,  the  Earl  of  Derby  gave  a great  entertain- 
ment in  the  tower. 

In  1737,  the  Mayor  was  George  Norton,  a saddler, 
who  frequently  took  the  chair  with  his  leather  apron 
on.  His  immediate  predecessor  seems  to  have  been 
the  Earl  of  Derby,  who  gave  the  above-mentioned 
entertainment  during  his  mayoralty.  Where  George’s 
Dock  now  is,  there  used  to  be  a battery  of  fourteen 
eighteen-pounders  for  the  defence  of  the  town,  and  the 
old  sport  of  bull-baiting  was  carried  on  in  that  vicin- 
ity, close  to  the  Church  of  St.  Nicholas. 

September  — On  Saturday  a young  man  was 
found  wandering  about  in  West  Derby,  a suburb  of 
Liverpool,  in  a state  of  insanity,  and,  being  taken  be- 
fore a magistrate,  he  proved  to  be  an  American.  As 
he  seemed  to  be  in  a respectable  station  of  life,  the 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


447 


magistrate  sent  the  master  of  the  workhouse  to  me  in 
order  to  find  out  whether  I would  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  his  expenses,  rather  than  have  him  put  in  the 
workhouse.  My  clerk  went  to  investigate  the  mat- 
ter, and  brought  me  his  papers.  His  name  proves 

to  be , belonging  to , twenty-five  years 

of  age.  One  of  the  papers  was  a passport  from  our 
legation  in  Naples ; likewise  there  was  a power  of  at- 
torney from  his  mother  (who  seems  to  have  been  mar- 
ried a second  time)  to  dispose  of  some  property  of 
hers  abroad ; a hotel  bill,  also,  of  some  length,  in 
which  were  various  charges  for  wine ; and,  among 
other  evidences  of  low  funds,  a pawnbroker’s  receipt 
for  a watch,  which  he  had  pledged  at  five  pounds. 
There  was  also  a ticket  for  his  passage  to  America,  by 
the  screw  steamer  Andes,  which  sailed  on  Wednesday 
last.  The  clerk  found  him  to  the  last  degree  incom- 
municative ; and  nothing  could  be  discovered  from 
him  but  what  the  papers  disclosed.  There  were  about 
a dozen  utterly  unintelligible  notes  among  the  papers, 
written  by  himself  since  his  derangement. 

I decided  to  put  him  into  the  insane  hospital,  where 
he  now  accordingly  is,  and  to-morrow  (by  which  time 
he  may  be  in  a more  conversable  mood)  I mean  to 
pay  him  a visit. 

The  clerk  tells  me  that  there  is  now,  and  has  been 
for  three  years,  an  American  lady  in  the  Liverpool 
almshouse,  in  a state  of  insanity.  She  is  very  accom- 
plished, especially  in  music ; but  in  all  this  time  it  has 
been  impossible  to  find  out  who  she  is,  or  anything 
about  her  connections  or  previous  life.  She  calls  her- 
self Jenny  Lind,  and  as  for  any  other  name  or  idem 
tity  she  keeps  her  own  secret. 


448 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


September  — It  appears  that  Mr. (the 

insane  young  gentleman)  being  unable  to  pay  his  bill 
at  the  inn  where  he  was  latterly  staying,  the  landlord 
had  taken  possession  of  his  luggage,  and  satisfied  him- 
self  in  that  way.  My  clerk,  at  my  request,  has  taken 
his  watch  out  of  pawn.  It  proves  to  be  not  a very 
good  one,  though  doubtless  worth  more  than  five 
pounds,  for  which  it  was  pledged.  The  Governor  of 
the  Lunatic  Asylum  wrote  me  yesterday,  stating  that 
the  patient  was  in  want  of  a change  of  clothes,  and 
that,  according  to  his  own  account,  he  had  left  his  lug- 
gage at  the  American  Hotel.  After  office  - hours,  I 
took  a cab,  and  set  out,  with  my  clerk,  to  pay  a visit  to 
the  Asylum,  taking  the  American  Hotel  in  our  way. 

The  American  Hotel  is  a small  house,  not  at  all 
such  a one  as  American  travellers  of  any  pretension 
would  think  of  stopping  at,  but  still  very  respectable, 
cleanly,  and  with  a neat  sitting-room,  where  the  guests 
might  assemble  after  the  American  fashion.  We 
asked  for  the  landlady,  and  anon  down  she  came,  a 
round,  rosy,  comfortable-looking  English  dame  of  fifty 
or  thereabouts.  On  being  asked  whether  she  knew  a 

Mr. , she  readily  responded  that  he  had  been 

there,  but  had  left  no  luggage,  having  taken  it  away 
before  paying  his  bill ; and  that  she  had  suspected 
him  of  meaning  to  take  his  departure  without  paying 
her  at  all.  Hereupon  she  had  traced  him  to  the  hotel 
before  mentioned,  where  she  had  found  that  he  had 
stayed  two  nights,  — but  was  then,  I think,  gone  from 
thence.  Afterwards  she  encountered  him  again,  and, 
demanding  her  due,  went  with  him  to  a pawnbroker’s, 
where  he  pledged  his  watch  and  paid  her.  This  was 
about  the  extent  of  the  landlady’s  knowledge  of  the 
matter.  I liked  the  woman  very  well,  with  her  shrewd, 
good-humored,  worldly,  kindly  disposition. 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


449 


Then  we  proceeded  to  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  to  which 
we  were  admitted  by  a porter  at  the  gate.  Within 
doors  we  found  some  neat  and  comely  servant-women, 
one  of  whom  showed  us  into  a handsome  parlor,  and 
took  my  card  to  the  Governor.  There  was  a large 
bookcase,  with  a glass  front,  containing  handsomely 
bound  books,  many  of  which,  I observed,  were  of  a 
religious  character.  In  a few  minutes  the  Governor 
came  in,  a middle-aged  man,  tall,  and  thin  for  an 
Englishman,  kindly  and  agreeable  enough  in  aspect, 
but  not  with  the  marked  look  of  a man  of  force  and 
ability.  I should  not  judge  from  his  conversation  that 
he  was  an  educated  man,  or  that  he  had  any  scientific 
acquaintance  with  the  subject  of  insanity. 

He  said  that  Mr. was  still  quite  incommuni- 

cative, and  not  in  a very  promising  state ; that  I had 
perhaps  better  defer  seeing  him  for  a few  days ; that 
it  would  not  be  safe,  at  present,  to  send  him  home  to 
America  without  an  attendant,  and  this  was  about  all. 
But  on  returning  home  I learned  from  my  wife,  who 
had  had  a call  from  Mrs.  Blodgett,  that  Mrs.  Blodgett 

knew  Mr. and  his  mother,  who  has  recently  been 

remarried  to  a young  husband,  and  is  now  somewhere 
in  Italy.  They  seemed  to  have  boarded  at  Mrs. 
Blodgett’s  house  on  their  way  to  the  Continent,  and 
within  a week  or  two,  an  acquaintance  and  pastor  of 

Mr. , the  Eev.  Dr. , had  sailed  for  America. 

If  I could  only  have  caught  him,  I could  have  trans- 
ferred the  care,  expense,  and  responsibility  of  the  pa- 
tient to  him.  The  Governor  of  the  Asylum  men- 
tioned, by  the  way,  that  Mr. describes  himself 

as  having  been  formerly  a midshipman  in  the  navy. 

I walked  through  the  St.  James’s  cemetery  yester- 

VOL.  VII.  29 


450 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


day.  It  is  a very  pretty  place,  dug  out  of  the  rock, 
having  formerly,  I believe,  been  a stone  - quarry.  It 
is  now  a deep  and  spacious  valley,  with  graves  and 
monuments  on  its  level  and  grassy  floor,  through 
which  run  gravel-paths,  and  where  grows  luxuriant 
shrubbery.  On  one  of  the  steep  sides  of  the  valley, 
hewn  out  of  the  rock,  are  tombs,  rising  in  tiers,  to  the 
height  of  fifty  feet  or  more;  some  of  them  cut  di- 
rectly into  the  rock  with  arched  portals,  and  others 
built  with  stone.  On  the  other  side  the  bank  is  of 
earth,  and  rises  abruptly,  quite  covered  with  trees, 
and  looking  very  pleasant  with  their  green  shades. 
It  was  a warm  and  sunny  day,  and  the  cemetery  really 
had  a most  agreeable  aspect.  I saw  several  gravestones 
of  Americans  ; but  what  struck  me  most  was  one  line 
of  an  epitaph  on  an  English  woman,  ‘‘  Here  rests  in 
pease  a virtuous  wife.”  The  statue  of  Huskisson 
stands  in  the  midst  of  the  valley,  in  a kind  of  mau- 
soleum, with  a door  of  plate-glass,  through  which  you 
look  at  the  dead  statesman’s  effigy. 

September  22c?.  — . . . Some  days  ago  an  Ameri- 
can captain  came  to  the  office,  and  said  he  had  shot 
one  of  his  men,  shortly  after  sailing  from  New  Or- 
leans, and  while  the  ship  was  still  in  the  river.  As 
he  described  the  event,  he  was  in  peril  of  his  life  from 
this  man,  who  was  an  Irishman ; and  he  fired  his  pis- 
tol only  when  the  man  was  coming  upon  him,  with  a 
knife  in  one  hand,  and  some  other  weapon  of  offence 
in  the  other,  while  he  himself  was  struggling  with  one 
or  two  more  of  the  crew.  He  was  weak  at  the  time, 
having  just  recovered  from  the  yellow  fever.  The 
shots  struck  the  man  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and 
he  lived  only  about  a quarter  of  an  hour.  No  magis^ 


LIVERPOOL. 


451 


/853.] 


trate  in  England  has  a right  to  arrest  or  examine  the 
captain,  unless  by  a warrant  from  the  Secretary  of 
State,  on  the  charge  of  murder.  After  his  statement 
to  me,  the  mother  of  the  slain  man  went  to  the  police 
officer,  and  accused  him  of  killing  her  son.  Two  or 
three  days  since,  morever,  two  of  the  sailors  came  be- 
fore me,  and  gave  their  account  of  the  matter ; and  it 
looked  very  differently  from  that  of  the  captain.  Ao 
cording  to  them,  the  man  had  no  idea  of  attacking  the 
captain,  and  was  so  drunk  that  he  could  not  keep  him- 
self upright  without  assistance.  One  of  these  two  men 
was  actually  holding  him  up  when  the  captain  fired 
two  barrels  of  his  pistol,  one  immediately  after  the 
other,  and  lodged  two  balls  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 
The  man  sank  down  at  once,  saying,  Jack,  I am 
killed,’’  — and  died  very  shortly.  Meanwhile  the  cap- 
tain drove  this  man  away,  under  threats  of  shooting 
him  likewise.  Both  the  seamen  described  the  cap- 
tain’s conduct,  both  then  and  during  the  whole  voy- 
age, as  outrageous,  and  I do  not  much  doubt  that  it 
was  so.  They  gave  their  evidence  like  men  who 
wished  to  tell  the  truth,  and  were  moved  by  no  more 
than  a natural  indignation  at  the  captain’s  wrong. 

I did  not  much  like  the  captain  from  the  first,  — a 
hard,  rough  man,  with  little  education,  and  nothing  of 
the  gentleman  about  him,  a red  face  and  a loud  voice. 
He  seemed  a good  deal  excited,  and  talked  fast  and 
much  about  the  event,  but  yet  not  as  if  it  had  sunk 
deeply  into  him.  He  observed  that  he  ‘‘  would  not 
have  had  it  happen  for  a thousand  dollars,”  that  be- 
ing the  amount  of  detriment  which  he  conceives  him- 
self to  suffer  by  the  ineffaceable  blood-stain  on  his 
hand.  In  my  opinion  it  is  little  short  of  murder,  if 
at  all ; but  what  would  be  murder  on  shore  is  almost 


452  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1853. 

a natural  occurrence  when  done  in  such  a hell  on 
earth  as  one  of  these  ships,  in  the  first  hours  of  the 
voyage.  The  men  are  then  all  drunk,  — some  of  them 
often  in  delirium  tremens  ; and  the  captain  feels  no 
safety  for  his  life  except  in  making  himself  as  terri- 
ble as  a fiend.  It  is  the  universal  testimony  that 
there  is  a worse  set  of  sailors  in  these  short  voyages 
between  Liverpool  and  America  than  in  any  other 
trade  whatever. 

There  is  no  probability  that  the  captain  will  ever  be 
called  to  account  for  this  deed.  He  gave,  at  the  time, 
his  own  version  of  the  affair  in  his  log-book ; and  this 
was  signed  by  the  entire  crew,  with  the  exception  of 
one  man,  who  had  hidden  himself  in  the  hold  in  ter- 
ror of  the  captain.  His  mates  will  sustain  his.  side  of 
the  question ; and  none  of  the  sailors  would  be  within 
reach  of  the  American  courts,  even  should  they  be 
sought  for. 

October  Is^.  — On  Thursday  I went  with  Mr.  Tick- 
nor  to  Chester  by  railway.  It  is  quite  an  indescrib- 
able old  town,  and  I feel  at  last  as  if  I had  had  a 
glimpse  of  old  England.  The  wall  encloses  a large 
space  within  the  town,  but  there  are  numerous  houses 
and  streets  not  included  within  its  precincts.  Some 
of  the  principal  streets  pass  under  the  ancient  gate- 
ways ; and  at  the  side  there  are  flights  of  steps,  giving 
access  to  the  summit.  Around  the  top  of  the  whole 
wall,  a circuit  of  about  two  miles,  there  runs  a walk, 
well  paved  with  flagstones,  and  broad  enough  for  three 
persons  to  walk  abreast.  On  one  side  — that  tov/ards 
the  country  — there  is  a parapet  of  red  freestone  three 
or  four  feet  high.  On  the  other  side  there  are  houses, 
rising  up  immediately  from  the  wall,  so  that  they  seem 


1853.] 


CHESTER, 


453 


a part  of  it.  The  height  of  it,  I suppose,  may  be 
thirty  or  forty  feet,  and,  in  some  parts,  you  look  down 
from  the  parapet  into  orchards,  where  there  are  tall 
apple-trees,  and  men  on  the  branches,  gathering  fruit, 
and  women  and  children  among  the  grass,  filling  bags 
or  baskets.  There  are  prospects  of  the  surrounding 
country  among  the  buildings  outside  the  wall ; at  one 
point,  a view  of  the  river  Dee,  with  an  old  bridge  of 
arches.  It  is  all  very  strange,  very  quaint,  very  curi- 
ous to  see  how  the  town  has  overflowed  its  barrier,  and 
how,  like  many  institutions  here,  the  ancient  wall  still 
exists,  but  is  turned  to  quite  another  purpose  than 
what  it  was  meant  for,  — so  far  as  it  serves  any  pur- 
pose at  all.  There  are  three  or  four  towers  in  the 
course  of  the  circuit ; the  most  interesting  being  one 
from  the  top  of  which  King  Charles  the  First  is  said 
to  have  seen  the  rout  of  his  army  by  the  Parliamenta- 
rians. We  ascended  the  short  flight  of  steps  that  led 
up  into  the  tower,  where  an  old  man  pointed  out  the 
site  of  the  battle-field,  now  thickly  studded  with  build- 
ings, and  told  us  what  we  had  already  learned  from  the 
guide-book.  After  this  we  went  into  the  cathedral, 
which  I will  perhaps  describe  on  some  other  occasion, 
when  I shall  have  seen  more  of  it,  and  to  better  advan- 
tage. The  cloisters  gave  us  the  strongest  impression  of 
antiquity  ; the  stone  arches  being  so  worn  and  black- 
ened by  time.  Still  an  American  must  always  have 
imagined  a better  cathedral  than  this.  There  were 
some  immense  windows  of  painted  glass,  but  all  mod- 
ern.  In  the  chapter-house  we  found  a coal-fire  burn- 
ing in  a grate,  and  a large  heap  of  old  books  — the  li- 
brary of  the  cathedral  — in  a discreditable  state  of 
decay,  ^ — mildewed,  rotten,  neglected  for  years.  The 
sexton  told  us  that  they  were  to  be  arranged  and  bet- 


454  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1853. 

ter  ordered.  Over  the  door,  inside,  hung  two  faded 
and  tattered  banners,  being  those  of  the  Cheshire  regi- 
ment. 

The  most  utterly  indescribable  feature  of  Chester  is 
the  Rows,  which  every  traveller  has  attempted  to  de- 
scribe. At  the  height  of  several  feet  above  some  of 
the  oldest  streets,  a walk  runs  through  the  front  of 
the  houses,  which  project  over  it.  Back  of  the  walk 
there  are  shops ; on  the  outer  side  is  a space  of  two 
or  three  yards,  where  the  shopmen  place  their  tables, 
and  stands,  and  show-cases ; overhead,  just  high  enough 
for  persons  to  stand  erect,  a ceiling.  At  frequent  in- 
tervals little  narrow  passages  go  winding  in  among 
the  houses,  which  all  along  are  closely  conjoined,  and 
seem  to  have  no  access  or  exit,  except  through  the 
shops,  or  into  these  narrow  passages,  where  you  can 
touch  each  side  with  your  elbows,  and  the  top  with 
your  hand.  We  penetrated  into  one  or  two  of  them, 
and  they  smelt  anciently  and  disagreeably.  At  one 
of  the  doors  stood  a pale-looking,  but  cheerful  and 
good-natured  woman,  who  told  us  that  she  had  come 
to  that  house  when  first  married,  twenty-one  years  be- 
fore, and  had  lived  there  ever  since ; and  that  she  felt 
as  if  she  had  been  buried  through  the  best  years  of 
her  life.  She  allowed  us  to  peep  into  her  kitchen  and 
parlor,  — small,  dingy,  dismal,  but  yet  not  wholly  des- 
titute of  a home  look.  She  said  that  she  had  seen 
two  or  three  coffins  in  a day,  during  cholera  times, 
carried  out  of  that  narrow  passage  into  which  her 
door  opened.  These  avenues  put  me  in  mind  of  those 
which  run  through  ant-hills,  or  those  which  a mole 
makes  underground.  This  fashion  of  Rows  does  not 
appear  to  be  going  out ; and,  for  aught  I can  see,  it 
may  last  hundreds  of  years  longer.  When  a house 


1853.] 


CHESTER, 


455 


becomes  so  old  as  to  be  untenantable,  it  is  rebuilt,  and 
the  new  one  is  fashioned  like  the  old,  so  far  as  regards 
the  walk  running  through  its  front.  Many  of  the 
shops  are  very  good,  and  even  elegant,  and  these 
Rows  are  the  favorite  places  of  business  in  Chester. 
Indeed,  they  have  many  advantages,  the  passengers 
being  sheltered  from  the  rain,  and  there  being  within 
the  shops  that  dimmer  light  by  which  tradesmen  like 
to  exhibit  their  wares. 

A large  proportion  of  the  edifices  in  the  Rows  must 
be  comparatively  modern ; but  there  are  some  very  an- 
cient ones,  with  oaken  frames  visible  on  the  exterior. 
The  Row,  passing  through  these  houses,  is  railed  with 
oak,  so  old  that  it  has  turned  black,  and  grown  to  be 
as  hard  as  stone,  which  it  might  be  mistaken  for,  if 
one  did  not  see  where  names  and  initials  have  been 
cut  into  it  with  knives  at  some  by-gone  period.  Over- 
head, cross-beams  project  through  the  ceiling  so  low 
as  almost  to  hit  the  head.  On  the  front  of  one  of 
these  buildings  was  the  inscription,  ‘‘  GOD’S  Peovi- 
DENCE  IS  MINE  INHERITANCE,”  said  to  have  been  put 
there  by  the  occupant  of  the  house  two  hundred  years 
ago,  when  the  plague  spared  this  one  house  only  in 
the  whole  city.  Not  improbably  the  inscription  has 
operated  as  a safeguard  to  prevent  the  demolition  of 
the  house  hitherto  ; but  a shopman  of  an  adjacent 
dwelling  told  us  that  it  was  soon  to  be  taken  down. 

Here  and  there,  about  some  of  the  streets  through 
which  the  Rows  do ‘not  run,  we  saw  houses  of  very 
aged  aspect,  with  steep,  peaked  gables.  The  front 
gable-end  was  supported  on  stone  pillars,  and  the  side- 
walk passed  beneath.  Most  of  these  old  houses 
seemed  to  be  taverns,  — the  Black  Bear,  the  Green 
Dragon,  and  such  names.  We  thought  of  dining  at 


456 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


one  of  them,  but,  on  inspection,  they  looked  rather  too 
dingy  and  close,  and  of  questionable  neatness.  So  we 
went  to  the  Royal  Hotel,  where  we  probably  fared  just 
as  badly  at  much  more  expense,  and  where  there  was 
a particularly  gruff  and  crabbed  old  waiter,  who,  I 
suppose,  thought  himself  free  to  display  his  surliness 
because  we  arrived  at  the  hotel  on  foot.  For  my  part, 
I love  to  see  John  Bull  show  himself.  I must  go 
again  and  again  and  again  to  Chester,  for  I suppose 
there  is  not  a more  curious  place  in  the  world. 

Mr.  Ticknor,  who  has  been  staying  at  Rock  Park 
with  us  since  Tuesday,  has  steamed  away  in  the  Can- 
ada this  morning.  His  departure  seems  to  make  me 
feel  more  abroad,  more  dissevered  from  my  native 
country,  than  before. 

October  3c?.  — Saturday  evening,  at  six,  I went  to 
dine  with  Mr.  Aiken,  a wealthy  merchant  here,  to 
meet  two  of  the  sons  of  Burns.  There  was  a party 
of  ten  or  twelve,  Mr.  Aiken  and  his  two  daughters  in- 
cluded. The  two  sons  of  Burns  have  both  been  in  the 
Indian  army,  and  have  attained  the  ranks  of  Colonel 
and  Major;  one  having  spent  thirty,  and  the  other 
twenty-seven  years,  in  India.  They  are  now  old  gen- 
tlemen of  sixty  and  upwards,  the  elder  with  a gray 
head,  the  younger  with  a perfectly  white  one,  — rather 
under  than  above  the  middle  stature,  and  with  a Brit- 
ish roundness  of  figure,  — plain,  respectable,  intelli- 
gent-looking persons,  with  quiet  banners.  I saw  no 
resemblance  in  either  of  them  to  any  portrait  of  their 
father.  After  the  ladies  left  the  table,  I sat  next  to 
the  Major,  the  younger  of  the  two,  and  had  a good 
deal  of  talk  with  him.  He  seemed  a very  kindly  and 
social  man,  and  was  quite  ready  to  speak  about  his 


1853.] 


LI  VERPOOL. 


457 


father,  nor  was  he  at  all  reluctant  to  let  it  be  seen  how 
much  he  valued  the  glory  of  being  descended  from  the 
poet.  By  and  by,  at  Mr.  Aiken’s  instance,  he  sang 
one  of  Burns’s  songs,  — the  one  about  “ Annie  ” and 
the  “ rigs  of  barley.”  He  sings  in  a perfectly  simple 
style,  so  that  it  is  little  more  than  a recitative,  and  yet 
the  effect  is  very  good  as  to  humor,  sense,  and  pathos. 
After  rejoining  the  ladies,  he  sang  another,  ‘‘A  posie 
for  my  ain  dear  May,”  and  likewise  A man ’s  a man 
for  a’  that.”  My  admiration  of  his  father,  and  partly, 
perhaps,  my  being  an  American,  gained  me  some 
favor  with  him,  and  he  promised  to  give  me  what  he 
considered  the  best  engraving  of  Burns,  and  some 
other  remembrance  of  him.  The  Major  is  that  son 
of  Burns  who  spent  an  evening  at  Abbotsford  with 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  when,  as  Lockhart  writes,  “the 
children  sang  the  ballads  of  their  sires.”  He  spoke 
with  vast  indignation  of  a recent  edition  of  his  fa- 
ther’s works  by  Robert  Chambers,  in  which  the  latter 
appears  to  have  wronged  the  poet  by  some  misstate- 
ments. ...  I liked  them  both  and  they  liked  me, 
and  asked  me  to  go  and  see  them  at  Cheltenham, 
where  they  reside.  We  broke  up  at  about  midnight. 

The  members  of  this  dinner-party  were  of  the  more 
liberal  tone  of  thinking  here  in  Liverpool.  The  Col- 
onel and  Major  seemed  to  be  of  similar  principles; 
and  the  eyes  of  the  latter  glowed  when  he  sang  his  fa- 
ther’s noble  verse,  “ The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  s^ 
stamp,”  etc.  It  would  have  been  too  pitiable  if  Burns 
had  left  a son  who  could  not  feel  the  spirit  of  that 
verse. 

October  8th.  — Coming  to  my  office,  two  or  three 
mornings  ago,  I found  Mrs. . the  mother  of  Mr. 


468 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

— , the  insane  young  man  of  whom  I had  taken 
charge.  She  is  a lady  of  fifty  or  thereabouts,  and  not 
veiy  remarkable  anyway,  nor  particularly  lady-like. 
However,  she  was  just  come  off  a rapid  journey,  hav- 
ing travelled  from  Naples,  with  three  small  children, 
without  taking  rest,  since  my  letter  reached  her.  A 
son^  of  about  twenty  had  come  with  her  to  the  Con- 
sulate. She  was,  of  course,  infinitely  grieved  about 
the  young  man’s  insanity,  and  had  two  or  three  bursts 
of  tears  while  we  talked  the  matter  over.  She  said 
he  was  the  hope  of  her  life,  — the  best,  purest,  most 
innocent  child  that  ever  was,  and  wholly  free  from 
every  kind  of  vice.  . . . But  it  appears  that  he  had 
a previous  attack  of  insanity,  lasting  three  months, 
about  three  years  ago. 

After  I had  told  her  all  I knew  about  him,  includ- 
ing my  personal  observations  at  a visit  a week  or  two 
since,  we  drove  in  a cab  to  the  Asylum.  It  must  have 
been  a dismal  moment  to  the  poor  lady,  as  we  entered 
the  gateway  through  a tall,  prison-like  wall.  Being 
ushered  into  the  parlor,  the  Governor  soon  apj)eared, 

and  informed  us  that  Mr.  had  had  a relapse 

within  a few  days,  and  was  not  so  well  as  when  I saw 
him.  He  complains  of  unjust  confinement,  and  seems 
to  consider  himself,  if  I rightly  understand,  under  per- 
secution for  political  reasons.  The  Governor,  how- 
ever, proposed  to  call  him  down,  and  I took  my  leave, 
feeling  that  it  would  be  indelicate  to  be  present  at  his 
first  interview  with  his  mother.  So  here  ended  my 
guardianship  of  the  poor  young  fellow. 

In  the  afternoon  I called  at  the  Waterloo  Hotel, 

where  Mrs. was  staying,  and  found  her  in  the 

coffee-room  with  the  children.  She  had  determined 
^ This  proved  to  be  her  new  husband. 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


459 


to  take  a lodging  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Asylum,  and 
was  going  to  remove  thither  as  soon  as  the  children 
had  had  something  to  eat.  They  seemed  to  he  pleas- 
ant and  well-behaved  children,  and  impressed  me  more 
favorably  than  the  mother,  whom  I suspect  to  be 
rather  a foolish  woman,  although  her  present  grief 
makes  her  appear  in  a more  respectable  light  than  at 
other  times.  She  seemed  anxious  to  impress  me  with 
the  respectability  and  distinction  of  her  connections  in 
America,  and  I had  observed  the  same  tendency  in  the 
insane  patient,  at  my  interview  with  him.  However, 
she  has  undoubtedly  a mother’s  love  for  this  poor  shat- 
terbrain,  and  this  may  weigh  against  the  folly  of  her 
marrying  an  incongruously  youthful  second  husband, 
and  many  other  follies. 

This  was  day  before  yesterday,  and  I have  heard 
nothing  of  her  since.  The  same  day  I had  applica- 
tions for  assistance  in  two  other  domestic  affairs ; one 
from  an  Irishman,  naturalized  in  America,  who  wished 
me  to  get  him  a passage  thither,  and  to  take  charge  of 
his  wife  and  family  here,  at  my  own  private  expense, 
until  he  could  remit  funds  to  carry  them  across.  An- 
other was  from  an  Irishman,  who  had  a power  of  at- 
torney from  a countrywoman  of  his  in  America,  to  find 
and  take  charge  of  an  infant  whom  she  had  left  in  the 
Li  verpool  workhouse,  two  years  ago.  I have  a great 
mind  to  keep  a list  of  all  the  business  I am  consulted 
about  and  employed  in.  It  would  be  very  curious^ 
Among  other  things,  all  penniless  Americans,  or  pre- 
tenders to  Americanism,  look  upon  me  as  their  banker ; 
and  I could  ruin  myself  any  week,  if  I had  not  laid 
down  a rule  to  consider  every  applicant  for  assistance 
an  impostor  until  he  prove  himself  a true  and  respon- 
sible man, — which  it  is  very  difficult  to  do.  Tester- 


460 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


day  there  limped  in  a very  respectable-looking  old  man, 
who  described  himself  as  a citizen  of  Baltimore,  who 
had  been  on  a trip  to  England  and  elsewhere,  and, 
being  detained  longer  than  he  expected,  and  having 
had  an  attack  of  rheumatism,  was  now  short  of  funds 
to  pay  his  passage  home,  and  hoped  that  I would  sup= 
ply  the  deficiency.  He  had  quite  a plain,  homely, 
though  respectable  manner,  and,  for  aught  I know, 
was  the  very  honestest  man  alive ; but  as  he  could  pro- 
duce no  kind  of  proof  of  his  character  and  responsi- 
bility, I very  quietly  explained  the  impossibility  of  my 
helping  him.  I advised  him  to  try  to  obtain  a passage 
on  board  of  some  Baltimore  ship,  the  master  of  which 
might  be  acquainted  with  him,  or,  at  all  events,  take 
his  word  for  payment,  after  arrival.  This  he  seemed 
inclined  to  do,  and  took  his  leave.  There  was  a de- 
cided aspect  of  simplicity  about  this  old  man,  and  yet 
I rather  judge  him  to  be  an  impostor. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  refuse  money  to  strangers  and 
unknown  people,  or  whenever  there  may  be  any  ques- 
tion about  identity ; but  it  will  not  be  so  easy  when  I 
am  asked  for  money  by  persons  whom  I know,  but  do 
not  like  to  trust.  They  shall  meet  the  eternal  ‘‘No,” 
however. 

October  13^A.  — In  Ormerod’s  history  of  Chester  it 
is  mentioned  that  Randal,  Earl  of  Chester,  having 
made  an  inroad  into  Wales  about  1225,  the  Welsh- 
men  gathered  in  mass  against  him,  and  drove  him  into 
the  castle  of  Nothelert  in  Flintshire.  The  Earl  sent 
for  succor  to  the  Constable  of  Chester,  Roger  Lacy, 
surnamed  “Hell,”  on  account  of  his  fierceness.  It 
was  then  fair-time  at  Chester,  and  the  constable  col- 
lected a miscellaneous  rabble  of  fiddlers,  players,  cob^ 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


461 


biers,  tailors,  and  all  manner  of  debauched  people,  and 
led  them  to  the  relief  of  the  Earl.  At  sight  of  this 
strange  army  the  W elshmen  fled ; and  forever  after 
the  Earl  assigned  to  the  constable  of  Chester  power 
over  all  fiddlers,  shoemakers,  etCo,  within  the  bounds 
of  Cheshire.  The  constable  retained  for  himself  and 
his  heirs  the  control  of  the  shoemakers ; and  made 
over  to  his  own  steward,  Dutton,  that  of  the  fiddlers 
and  players,  and  for  many  hundreds  of  years  after- 
wards the  Duttons  of  Dutton  retained  the  power.  On 
midsummer-day,  they  used  to  ride  through  Chester, 
attended  by  all  the  minstrels  playing  on  their  several 
instruments,  to  the  Church  of  St.  John,  and  there  re- 
new their  licenses.  It  is  a good  theme  for  a legend. 
Sir  Peter  Leycester,  writing  in  Charles  the  Second’s 
time,  copies  the  Latin  deed  from  the  constable  to  Dut- 
ton ; rightly  translated,  it  seems  to  mean  “the  mag- 
isterial power  over  all  the  lewd  people  ...  in  the 
whole  of  Cheshire,”  but  the  custom  grew  into  what  is 
above  stated.  In  the  time  of  Henry  VII.,  the  Dut- 
tons claimed,  by  prescriptive  right,  that  the  Cheshire 
minstrels  should  deliver  them,  at  the  feast  of  St.  J ohn, 
four  bottles  of  wine  and  a lance,  and  that  each  sepa- 
rate minstrel  should  pay  fourpence  halfpenny.  . . . 

Another  account  says  Ralph  Dutton  was  the  consta- 
ble’s son-in-law,  and  “ a lusty  youth.” 

October  19^4.  — Coming  to  the  ferry  this  morning 
a few  minutes  before  the  boat  arrived  from  town,  I 
went  into  the  ferry-house,  a small  stone  edifice,  and 
found  there  an  Irishman,  his  wife  and  three  children, 
the  oldest  eight  or  nine  years  old,  and  all  girls.  There 
was  a good  fire  burning  in  the  room,  and  the  family 
was  clustered  round  it,  apparently  enjoying  the  warmth 


462 


ENGLISH  NOTE-HOOKS. 


[1853. 


very  much ; but  when  I went  in  both  husband  and 
wife  very  hospitably  asked  me  to  come  to  the  fire,  al- 
though there  was  not  more  than  room  at  it  for  their 
own  party.  I declined,  on  the  plea  that  I was  warm 
enough,  and  then  the  woman  said  that  they  were  very 
cold,  having  been  long  on  the  road.  The  man  was 
gray-haired  and  gray-bearded,  clad  in  an  old  drab 
overcoat,  and  laden  with  a huge  bag,  which  seemed 
to  contain  bedclothing  or  something  of  the  kind.  The 
woman  was  pale,  with  a thin,  anxious,  wrinkled  face, 
but  with  a good  and  kind  expression.  The  children 
were  quite  pretty,  with  delicate  faces,  and  a look  of 
patience  and  endurance  in  them,  but  yet  as  if  they  had 
suffered  as  little  as  they  possibly  could.  The  two  elder 
were  cuddled  up  close  to  the  father,  the  youngest, 
about  four  years  old,  sat  in  its  mother’s  lap,  and  she 
had  taken  off  its  small  shoes  and  stockings,  and  was 
warming  its  feet  at  the  fire.  Their  little  voices  had  a 
sweet  and  kindly  sound  as  they  talked  in  low  tones 
to  their  parents  and  one  another.  They  all  looked 
very  shabby,  and  yet  had  a decency  about  them ; and 
it  was  touching  to  see  how  they  made  themselves  at 
home  at  this  casual  fireside,  and  got  all  the  comfort 
they  could  out  of  the  circumstances.  By  and  by  two 
or  three  market-women  came  in  and  looked  pleasantly 
at  them,  and  said  a word  or  two  to  the  children. 

They  did  not  beg  of  me,  as  I supposed  they  would ; 
but  after  looking  at  them  awhile,  I pulled  out  a piece 
of  silver,  and  handed  it  to  one  of  the  little  girls.  She 
took  it  very  readily,  as  if  she  partly  expected  it,  and 
then  the  father  and  mother  thanked  me,  and  said  they 
had  been  travelling  a long  distance,  and  had  nothing 
to  subsist  upon,  except  what  they  picked  up  on  the 
road.  They  found  it  impossible  to  live  in  England, 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


463 


and  were  now  on  their  way  to  Liverpool,  hoping  to  get 
a passage  back  to  Ireland,  where,  I suppose,  extreme 
poverty  is  rather  better  off  than  here.  I heard  the 
little  girl  say  that  she  should  buy  bread  with  the 
money.  There  is  not  much  that  can  be  caught  in  the 
description  of  this  scene ; but  it  made  me  under= 
stand,  better  than  before,  how  poor  people  feel,  wan- 
dering about  in  such  destitute  circumstances,  and  how 
they  suffer,  and  yet  how  they  have  a life  not  quite 
miserable,  after  all,  and  how  family  love  goes  along 
with  them.  Soon  the  boat  arrived  at  the  pier,  and  we 
all  went  on  board  ; and  as  I sat  in  the  cabin,  looking 
up  through  a broken  pane  in  the  skylight,  I saw  the 
woman’s  thin  face,  with  its  anxious,  motherly  aspect ; 
and  the  youngest  child  in  her  arms,  shrinking  from 
the  chill  wind,  but  yet  not  impatiently  ; and  the  eldest 
of  the  girls  standing  close  by  with  her  expression  of 
childish  endurance,  but  yet  so  bright  and  intelligent 
that  it  would  evidently  take  but  a few  days  to  make  a 
happy  and  playful  child  of  her.  I got  into  the  inte- 
rior of  this  poor  family,  and  understand,  through  sym- 
pathy, more  of  them  than  I can  tell.  I am  getting  to 
possess  some  of  the  English  indifference  as  to  beggars 
and  poor  people  ; but  still,  whenever  I come  face  to 
face  with  them,  and  have  any  intercourse,  it  seems  as 
if  they  ought  to  be  the  better  for  me.  I wish,  instead 
of  sixpence,  I had  given  the  poor  family  ten  shillings, 
and  denied  it  to  a begging  subscriptionist,  who  has 
just  fleeced  me  to  that  amount.  How  silly  a man  feels 
in  this  latter  predicament ! 

I have  had  a good  many  visitors  at  the  Consulate 
from  the  United  States  within  a short  time,  — among 
others,  Mr.  D.  D.  Barnard,  our  late  minister  to  Ber- 
lin, returning  homeward  to-day  by  the  Arctic ; and 


464  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

Mr.  Sickles,  Secretary  of  Legation  to  London,  a 
fine-looking,  intelligent,  gentlemanly  young  man.  . . . 
With  him  came  Judge  Douglas,  the  chosen  man  of 
Young  America.  He  is  very  short,  extremely  short, 
but  has  an  uncommonly  good  head,  and  uncommon 
dignity  without  seeming  to  aim  at  it,  being  free  and 
simple  in  manners.  I judge  him  to  be  a very  able 
man,  with  the  Western  sociability  and  free-fellowship. 
Generally  I see  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  my  coun- 
trymen who  come  out  here  in  public  position,  or  other- 
wise assuming  the  rank  of  gentlemen. 

October  20^A.  — One  sees  incidents  in  the  streets 
here,  occasionally,  which  could  not  be  seen  in  an  Amer- 
ican city.  For  instance,  a week  or  two  since,  I was 
passing  a quiet-looking,  elderly  gentleman,  when,  all 
of  a sudden,  without  any  apparent  provocation,  he  up- 
lifted his  stick,  and  struck  a black-gowned  boy  a smart 
blow  on  the  shoulders.  The  boy  looked  at  him  wofully 
and  resentfully,  but  said  nothing,  nor  can  I imagine 
why  the  thing  was  done.  In  Tythebarne  Street  to-day 
I saw  a woman  suddenly  assault  a man,  clutch  at  his 
hair,  and  cuff  him  about  the  ears.  The  man,  who  was 
of  decent  aspect  enough,  immediately  took  to  his  heels, 
full  speed,  and  the  woman  ran  after  him,  and,  as  far 
as  I could  discern  the  pair,  the  chase  continued. 

October  22c?.  — At  a dinner-party  at  Mr.  Holland’s 
last  evening,  a gentleman,  in  instance  of  Charles  Dick- 
ens’s unweariability,  said  that  during  some  theatrical 
performances  in  Liverpool  he  acted  in  play  and  farce, 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night  making  speeches,  feasting, 
and  drinking  at  table,  and  ended  at  seven  o’clock  in 
the  morning  by  jumping  leap-frog  over  the  backs  of 
the  whole  company. 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


465 


In  Moore’s  diary  he  mentions  a beautiful  Guernsey 
lily  having  been  given  to  his  wife,  and  says  that  the 
flower  was  originally  from  Guernsey.  A ship  from 
there  had  been  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Japan,  having 
many  of  the  lilies  on  board,  and  the  next  year  the 
flowers  appeared,  — springing  up,  I suppose,  on  the 
wave-beaten  strand. 

Wishing  to  send  a letter  to  a dead  man,  who  may 
be  supposed  to  have  gone  to  Tophet,  — throw  it  into 
the  fire. 

Sir  Arthur  Aston  had  his  brains  beaten  out  with 
his  own  wooden  leg,  at  the  storming  of  Tredagh,  in 
Ireland,  by  Cromwell. 

In  the  county  of  Cheshire,  many  centuries  ago, 
there  lived  a half-idiot,  named  Nixon,  who  had  the 
gift  of  prophecy,  and  made  many  predictions  about 
places,  families,  and  important  public  events,  since 
fulfilled.  He  seems  to  have  fallen  into  fits  of  insensh 
bility  previous  to  uttering  his  prophecies. 

The  family  of  Mainwaring  (pronounced  Manner- 
ing),  of  Bromborough,  had  an  ass’s  head  for  a crest. 

Richard  Dawson,  being  sick  of  the  plague,  and 
perceiving  he  must  die,  rose  out  of  his  bed  and  made 
his  grave,  and  caused  his  nephew  to  cast  straw  into  the 
grave,  which  was  not  far  from  the  house,  and  went  and 
laid  him  down  in  the  said  grave,  and  caused  clothes 
to  be  laid  upon  him,  and  so  departed  out  of  this 
world.  This  he  did  because  he  was  a strong  man,  and 
heavier  than  his  said  nephew  and  a serving- wench  were 

VOL.  VII.  30 


466 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


able  to  bury.  He  died  about  the  24th  of  August. 
Thus  was  I credibly  told  he  did,  1625.”  This  was  in 
the  township  of  Malpas,  recorded  in  the  parish  register. 

At  Bickley  Hall,  taken  down  a few  years  ago,  used 
to  be  shown  the  room  where  the  body  of  the  Earl  of 
Leicester  was  laid  for  a whole  twelvemonth,  — 1659 
to  1660,  — he  having  been  kept  unburied  all  that 
time,  owing  to  a dispute  which  of  his  heirs  should  pay 
his  funeral  expenses. 

November  bth.  — We  all,  together  with  Mr.  Squa- 
rey,  went  to  Chester  last  Sunday,  and  attended  the 
cathedral  service.  A great  deal  of  ceremony,  and  not 
unimposing,  but  rather  tedious  before  it  was  finished, 
— occupying  two  hours  or  more.  The  Bishop  was 
present,  but  did  nothing  except  to  pronounce  the  ben- 
ediction. In  America  the  sermon  is  the  principal 
thing ; but  here  all  this  magnificent  ceremonial  of 
prayer  and  chanted  responses  and  psalms  and  anthems 
was  the  setting  to  a short,  meagre  discourse,  which 
would  not  have  been  considered  of  any  account  among 
the  elaborate  intellectual  efforts  of  New  England  min- 
isters. While  this  was  going  on,  the  light  came 
through  the  stained  glass  windows  and  fell  upon  the 
congregation,  tingeing  them  with  crimson.  After  ser- 
vice we  wandered  about  the  aisles,  and  looked  at  the 
tombs  and  monuments,  — the  oldest  of  which  was  that 
of  some  nameless  abbot,  with  a staff  and  mitre  half 
obliterated  from  his  tomb,  which  was  under  a shallow 
arch  on  one  side  of  the  cathedral.  There  were  also 
marbles  on  the  walls,  and  lettered  stones  in  the  pave- 
ment under  our  feet ; but  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  of 
modern  date.  We  lunched  at  the  Royal  Hotel,  and 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


467 


then  walked  round  the  city  walls,  also  crossing  the 
bridge  of  one  great  arch  over  the  Dee,  and  penetrating 
as  far  into  W ales  as  the  entrance  of  the  Marquis  of 
Westminster’s  Park  at  Eaton.  It  was,  I think,  the 
most  lovely  day  as  regards  weather  that  I have  seen  in 
England. 

I passed,  to-day,  a man  chanting  a ballad  in  a street 
about  a recent  murder,  in  a voice  that  had  innumer- 
able cracks  in  it,  and  was  most  lugubrious.  The  other 
day  I saw  a man  who  was  reading  in  a loud  voice  what 
seemed  to  be  an  account  of  the  late  riots  and  loss  of 
life  in  Wigan.  He  walked  slowly  along  the  street  as 
he  read,  surrounded  by  a small  crowd  of  men,  women, 
and  children ; and  close  by  his  elbow  stalked  a police- 
man, as  if  guarding  against  a disturbance. 

November  14^A.  — There  is  a heavy  dun  fog  on  the 
river  and  over  the  city  to-day,  the  very  gloomiest  at- 
mosphere that  ever  I was  acquainted  with.  On  the 
river  the  steamboats  strike  gongs  or  ring  bells  to  give 
warning  of  their  approach.  There  are  lamps  burning 
in  the  counting-rooms  and  lobbies  of  the  warehouses, 
and  they  gleam  distinctly  through  the  windows. 

The  other  day,  at  the  entrance  of  the  market-house, 
I saw  a woman  sitting  in  a small  hand-wagon,  appar- 
ently for  the  purpose  of  receiving  alms.  There  was 
uo  attendant  at  hand  ; but  1 noticed  that  one  or  two 
persons  who  passed  by  seemed  to  inquire  whether  she 
wished  her  wagon  to  be  moved.  Perhaps  this  is  her 
mode  of  making  progress  about  the  city,  by  the  volun- 
tary aid  of  boys  and  other  people  who  help  to  drag 
her.  There  is  something  in  this  — I don’t  yet  well 
know  what  — that  has  impressed  me,  as  if  I could 


468 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 


make  a romance  out  of  the  idea  of  a woman  living  in 
this  manner  a public  life,  and  moving  about  by  such 
means. 

Novemher  — Mr.  H.  A.  B told  me  of  his 

friend  Mr. (who  was  formerly  attache  to  the 

British  Legation  at  Washington,  and  whom  I saw  at 
Concord),  that  his  father,  a clergyman,  married  a 
second  wife.  After  the  marriage,  the  noise  of  a cof- 
fin being  nightly  carried  down  the  stairs  was  heard 
in  the  parsonage.  It  could  be  distinguished  when  the 
coffin  reached  a certain  broad  landing  and  rested 
on  it.  Finally,  his  father  had  to  remove  to  another 

residence.  Besides  this,  Mr. had  had  another 

ghostly  experience,  — having  seen  a dim  apparition  of 
an  uncle  at  the  precise  instant  when  the  latter  died  in 
a distant  place.  The  attache  is  a credible  and  honor- 
able fellow,  and  talks  of  these  matters  as  if  he  posi- 
tively believed  them.  But  Ghostland  lies  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  veracity. 

In  a garden  near  Chester,  in  taking  down  a sum- 
mer-house, a tomb  was  discovered  beneath  it,  with  a 
Latin  inscription  to  the  memory  of  an  old  doctor  of 
medicine,  William  Bentley,  who  had  owned  the  place 
long  ago,  and  died  in  1680.  And  his  dust  and  bones 
had  lain  beneath  all  the  merry  times  in  the  summer- 
house. 

Decemher  — It  is  curious  to  observe  how  many 
methods  people  put  in  practice  here  to  pick  up  a half- 
penny. Yesterday  I saw  a man  standing  bareheaded 
and  barelegged  in  the  mud  and  misty  weather,  playing 
on  a fife,  in  hopes  to  get  a circle  of  auditors.  Nobody, 


LIVERPOOL. 


469 


1853.] 


however,  seemed  to  take  any  notice.  Very  often  a 
whole  band  of  musicians  will  strike  up,  — passing  a 
hat  round  after  playing  a tune  or  two.  On  board  the 
ferry,  until  the  coldest  weather  began,  there  were  al- 
ways some  wretched  musicians,  with  an  old  fiddle,  an 
old  clarinet,  and  an  old  verdigrised  brass  bugle,  per- 
forming during  the  passage,  and,  as  the  boat  neared 
the  shore,  sending  round  one  of  their  number  to  gather 
contributions  in  the  hollow  of  the  brass  bugle.  They 
were  a very  shabby  set,  and  must  have  made  a very 
scanty  living  at  best.  Sometimes  it  was  a boy  with 
an  accordion,  and  his  sister,  a smart  little  girl,  with  a 
timbrel,  — which,  being  so  shattered  that  she  could 
not  play  on  it,  she  used  only  to  collect  halfpence  in. 
Ballad  - singers,  or  rather  chanters  or  croakers,  are 
often  to  be  met  with  in  the  streets,  but  hand-organ 
players  are  not  more  frequent  than  in  our  cities. 

I still  observe  little  girls  and  other  children  bare- 
legged and  barefooted  on  the  wet  sidewalks.  There 
certainly  never  was  anything  so  dismal  as  the  Novem- 
ber weather  has  been  ; never  any  real  sunshine ; al- 
most always  a mist  ; sometimes  a dense  fog,  like 
slightly  rarefied  wool,  pervading  the  atmosphere. 


An  epitaph  on  a person  buried  on  a hill -side  in 
Cheshire,  together  with  some  others,  supposed  to  have 
died  of  the  plague,  and  therefore  not  admitted  into 
the  churchyards : — 

“ Think  it  not  strange  our  bones  ly  here, 

Thine  may  ly  thou  knowst  not  where.” 

Elizabeth  Hampson. 

These  graves  were  near  the  remains  of  two  rude  stone 
crosses,  the  purpose  of  which  was  not  certainly  known, 
although  they  were  supposed  to  be  boundary  marks. 


470  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

Probably,  as  the  plague-corpses  were  debarred  from 
sanctified  ground,  the  vicinity  of  these  crosses  was 
chosen  as  having  a sort  of  sanctity. 

Bang  beggar,”  — an  old  Cheshire  term  for  a parish 
beadle. 

Hawthorne  Hal],  Cheshire,  Macclesfield  Hundred, 
Parish  of  Wilmslow,  and  within  the  hamlet  of  Morley. 
It  was  vested  at  an  early  period  in  the  Lathoms  of 
Irlam,  Lancaster  County,  and  passed  through  the 
Leighs  to  the  Pages  of  Earlshaw.  Thomas  Leigh 
Page  sold  it  to  Mr.  Ralph  Bower  of  Wilmslow,  whose 
children  owned  it  in  1817.  The  Leighs  built  a chan- 
cel in  the  church  of  Wilmslow,  where  some  of  them 
are  buried,  their  arms  painted  in  the  windows.  The 
hall  is  an  ‘‘  ancient,  respectable  mansion  of  brick.” 

December  2c?.  — Yesterday,  a chill,  misty  December 
day,  yet  I saw  a woman  barefooted  in  the  street,  not  to 
speak  of  children. 

Cold  and  uncertain  as  the  weather  is,  there  is  still  a 
great  deal  of  small  trade  carried  on  in  the  open  air. 
Women  and  men  sit  in  the  streets  with  a stock  of 
combs  and  such  small  things  to  sell,  the  women  knit- 
ting as  if  they  sat  by  a fireside.  Cheap  crockery  is 
laid  out  in  the  street,  so  far  out  that  without  any  great 
deviation  from  the  regular  carriage  - track  a wheel 
might  pass  straight  through  it.  Stalls  of  apples  are 
innumerable,  but  the  apples  are  not  fit  for  a pig.  In 
some  streets  herrings  are  very  abundant,  laid  out  on 
boards.  Coals  seem  to  be  for  sale  by  the  wheelbar- 
rowful. Here  and  there  you  see  children  with  some 
small  article  for  sale,  — as,  for  instance,  a girl  with 


1858.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


471 


two  linen  caps.  A somewhat  overladen  cart  of  coal 
was  passing  along  and  some  small  quantity  of  the  coal 
fell  off ; no  sooner  had  the  wheels  passed  than  several 
women  and  children  gathered  to  the  spot,  like  hens 
and  chickens  round  a handful  of  corn,  and  picked  it 
up  in  their  aprons.  We  have  nothing  similar  to  these 
street-women  in  our  country. 

December  lOth.  — I don’t  know  any  place  that 
brings  all  classes  into  contiguity  on  equal  ground  so 
completely  as  the  waiting-room  at  Rock  Ferry  on 
these  frosty  days.  The  room  is  not  more  than  eight 
feet  square,  with  walls  of  stone,  and  wooden  benches 
ranged  round  them,  and  an  open  stove  in  one  corner, 
generally  well  furnished  with  coal.  It  is  almost  al- 
ways crowded,  and  I rather  suspect  that  many  per- 
sons who  have  no  fireside  elsewhere  creep  in  here  and 
spend  the  most  comfortable  part  of  their  day. 

This  morning,  when  I looked  into  the  room,  there 
were  one  or  two  gentlemen  and  other  respectable  per- 
sons ; but  in  the  best  place,  close  to  the  fire,  and 
crouching  almost  into  it,  was  an  elderly  beggar,  with 
the  raggedest  of  overcoats,  two  great  rents  in  the 
shoulders  of  it  disclosing  the  dingy  lining,  all  be- 
patched  with  various  stuff  covered  with  dirt,  and  on 
his  shoes  and  trousers  the  mud  of  an  interminable  pil- 
grimage. Owing  to  the  posture  in  which  he  sat,  I 
could  not  see  his  face,  but  only  the  battered  crown 
and  rim  of  the  very  shabbiest  hat  that  ever  was  worn. 
Regardless  of  the  presence  of  women  (which,  indeed, 
Englishmen  seldom  do  regard  when  they  wish  to 
smoke),  he  was  smoking  a pipe  of  vile  tobacco;  but, 
after  all,  this  was  fortunate,  because  the  man  himself 
was  not  personally  fragrant.  He  was  terribly  squalid. 


472 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


— terribly ; and  when  I had  a glimpse  of  his  face,  it 
well  befitted  the  rest  of  his  development,  — grizzled, 
wrinkled,  weather-beaten,  yet  sallow,  and  down-look- 
ing, with  a watchful  kind  of  eye  turning  upon  every- 
body and  everything,  meeting  the  glances  of  other  peo- 
ple rather  boldly,  yet  soon  shrinking  away ; a long 
thin  nose,  a gray  beard  of  a week’s  growth  ; hair  not 
much  mixed  with  gray,  but  rusty  and  lifeless;  — a 
miserable  object ; but  it  was  curious  to  see  how"  he  was 
not  ashamed  of  himself,  but  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was 
one  of  the  estates  of  the  kingdom,  and  had  as  much 
right  to  live  as  other  men.  He  did  just  as  he  pleased, 
took  the  best  place  by  the  fire,  nor  would  have  cared 
though  a nobleman  were  forced  to  stand  aside  for  him. 
When  the  steamer’s  bell  rang,  he  shouldered  a large 
and  heavy  pack,  like  a pilgrim  with  his  burden  of  sin, 
but  certainly  journeying  to  hell  instead  of  heaven.  On 
board  he  looked  round  for  the  best  position,  at  first 
stationing  himself  near  the  boiler-pipe;  but,  finding 
the  deck  damp  underfoot,  he  went  to  the  cabin-door, 
and  took  his  stand  on  the  stairs,  protected  from  the 
wind,  but  very  incommodiously  placed  for  those  who 
wished  to  pass.  All  this  was  done  without  any  bra- 
vado or  forced  impudence,  but  in  the  most  quiet  way, 
merely  because  he  was  seeking  his  own  comfort,  and 
considered  that  he  had  a right  to  seek  it.  It  was  an 
Englishman’s  spirit ; but  in  our  country,  I imagine,  a 
beggar  considers  himself  a kind  of  outlaw,  and  would 
hardly  assume  the  privileges  of  a man  in  any  place 
of  public  resort.  Here  beggary  is  a system,  and  beg- 
gars are  a numerous  class,  and  make  themselves,  in  a 
certain  way,  respected  as  such.  Nobody  evinced  the 
slightest  disapprobation  of  the  man’s  proceedings.  In 
America,  I think,  we  should  see  many  aristocratic  airs 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


473 


on  such  provocation,  and  probably  the  ferry  people 
would  there  have  rudely  thrust  the  beggar  aside  ; giv- 
ing him  a shilling,  however,  which  no  Englishman 
would  ever  think  of  doing.  There  would  also  have 
been  a great  deal  of  fun  made  of  his  squalid  and  rag- 
ged figure  ; whereas  nobody  smiled  at  him  this  morn- 
ing, nor  in  any  way  showed  the  slightest  disrespect. 
This  is  good ; but  it  is  the  result  of  a state  of  things 
by  no  means  good.  For  many  days  there  has  been  a 
great  deal  of  fog  on  the  river,  and  the  boats  have 
groped  their  way  along,  continually  striking  their 
bells,  while,  on  all  sides,  there  are  responses  of  bell 
and  gong ; and  the  vessels  at  anchor  look  shadow-like 
as  we  glide  past  them,  and  the  master  of  one  steamer 
shouts  a warning  to  the  master  of  another  which  he 
meets.  The  Englishmen,  who  hate  to  run  any  risk 
without  an  equivalent  object,  show  a good  deal  of  cau- 
tion and  timidity  on  these  foggy  days. 

December  — Chill,  frosty  weather ; such  an  at- 
mosphere as  forebodes  snow  in  New  England,  and 
there  has  been  a little  here.  Yet  I saw  a barefooted 
young  woman  yesterday.  The  feet  of  these  poor  crea- 
tures have  exactly  the  red  complexion  of  their  hands, 
acquired  by  constant  exposure  to  the  cold  air. 

At  the  ferry-room,  this  morning,  was  a small,  thin, 
anxious-looking  woman,  with  a bundle,  seeming  in 
rather  poor  circumstances,  but  decently  dressed,  and 
eying  other  women,  I thought,  with  an  expression  of 
slight  ill-will  and  distrust ; also  an  elderly,  stout,  gray- 
haired woman,  of  respectable  aspect,  and  two  young 
lady-like  persons,  quite  pretty,  one  of  whom  was  read- 
ing a shilling  volume  of  James’s  ‘‘Arabella  Stuart.” 
They  talked  to  one  another  with  that  up-and-down  in- 


474 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


tonation  which  English  ladies  practise,  and  which 
strikes  an  unaccustomed  ear  as  rather  affected,  espe- 
cially in  women  of  size  and  mass.  It  is  very  differ- 
ent from  an  American  lady’s  mode  of  talking : there 
is  the  difference  between  color  and  no  color ; the  tone 
variegates  it.  One  of  these  young  ladies  spoke  to  me, 
making  some  remark  about  the  weather,  — the  first  in- 
stance I have  met  with  of  a gentlewoman’s  speaking 
to  an  unintroduced  gentleman.  Besides  these,  a mid- 
dle-aged man  of  the  lower  class,  and  also  a gentleman’s 
out-door  servant,  clad  in  a drab  great-coat,  corduroy 
breeches,  and  drab  cloth  gaiters  buttoned  from  the 
knee  to  the  ankle.  He  complained  to  the  other  man 
of  the  cold  weather ; said  that  a glass  of  whiskey,  every 
half-hour,  would  keep  a man  comfortable;  and,  acci- 
dentally hitting  his  coarse  foot  against  one  of  the  young 
lady’s  feet,  said,  ‘‘  Beg  pardon,  ma’am,”  — which  she 
acknowledged  with  a slight  movement  of  the  head. 
Somehow  or  other,  different  classes  seem  to  encounter 
one  another  in  an  easier  manner  than  with  us ; the 
shock  is  less  palpable.  I suppose  the  reason  is  that 
the  distinctions  are  real,  and  therefore  need  not  be 
continually  asserted. 

Nervous  and  excitable  persons  need  to  talk  a great 
deal,  by  way  of  letting  off  their  steam. 

On  board  the  Rock  Ferry  steamer,  a gentleman  com- 
ing into  the  cabin,  a voice  addresses  him  from  a dark 
corner,  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? ” — “ Speak  again  ! ” says 
the  gentleman.  No  answer  from  the  dark  corner ; and 
the  gentleman  repeats,  “ Speak  again  ! ” The  speaker 
now  comes  out  of  the  dark  corner,  and  sits  down  in  a 
place  where  he  can  be  seen.  Ah ! ” cries  the  gentle- 


1853.1 


LIVERPOOL, 


475 


man,  very  well,  I thank  you.  How  do  you  do  ? 1 

did  not  recognize  your  voice.”  Observable,  the  Eng« 
lish  caution,  shown  in  the  gentleman’s  not  vouchsafing 
to  say,  ‘‘Very  well,  thank  you!”  till  he  knew  his  maiio 

What  was  the  after  life  of  the  young  man,  whom 
Jesus,  looking  on,  “ loved,”  and  bade  him  sell  all  that 
he  had,  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  take  up  his  cross  and 
follow  him?  Something  very  deep  and  beautiful  might 
be  made  out  of  this. 

December  31s^.  — Among  the  beggars  of  Liverpool, 
the  hardest  to  encounter  is  a man  without  any  legs, 
and,  if  I mistake  not,  likewise  deficient  in  arms.  You 
see  him  before  you  all  at  once,  as  if  he  had  sprouted 
half-way  out  of  the  earth,  and  would  sink  down  and 
reappear  in  some  other  place  the  moment  he  has  done 
with  you.  His  countenance  is  large,  fresh,  and  very 
intelligent ; but  his  great  power  lies  in  his  fixed  gaze, 
which  is  inconceivably  difficult  to  bear.  He  never  once 
removes  his  eye  from  you  till  you  are  quite  past  his 
range ; and  you  feel  it  all  the  same,  although  you  do 
not  meet  his  glance.  He  is  perfectly  respectful ; but 
the  intentness  and  directness  of  his  silent  appeal  is  far 
worse  than  any  impudence.  In  fact,  it  is  the  very 
flower  of  impudence.  I would  rather  go  a mile  about 
than  pass  before  his  battery.  I feel  wronged  by  him, 
and  yet  unutterably  ashamed.  There  must  be  great 
force  in  the  man  to  produce  such  an  effect.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  customary  squalidness  of  beggary  about 
him,  but  remarkable  trimness  and  cleanliness.  A girl 
of  twenty  or  thereabouts,  who  vagabondizes  about  the 
city  on  her  hands  and  knees,  possesses,  to  a consider* 
able  degree,  the  same  characteristics.  I think  they  hit 


476  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

their  victims  the  more  effectually  from  being  below  the 
common  level  of  vision. 

January  3c?,  1854.  — Night  before  last  there  was  a 
fall  of  snow,  about  three  or  four  inches,  and,  following 
it,  a pretty  hard  frost.  On  the  river,  the  vessels  at 
anchor  showed  the  snow  along  their  yards,  and  on 
every  ledge  where  it  could  lie.  A blue  sky  and  sun- 
shine overhead,  and  apparently  a clear  atmosphere 
close  at  hand  ; but  in  the  distance  a mistiness  became 
perceptible,  obscuring  the  shores  of  the  river,  and  mak- 
ing the  vessels  look  dim  and  uncertain.  The  steamers 
were  ploughing  along,  smoking  their  pipes  through  the 
frosty  air.  On  the  landing  stage  and  in  the  streets, 
hard-trodden  snow,  looking  more  like  my  New  Eng- 
land home  than  anything  I have  yet  seen.  Last  night 
the  thermometer  fell  as  low  as  13°,  nor  probably  is  it 
above  20°  to-day.  No  such  frost  has  been  known  in 
England  these  forty  years  ! and  Mr.  Wilding  tells  me 
that  he  never  saw  so  much  snow  before. 

January  Qth.  — I saw,  yesterday,  stopping  at  a cab- 
inet-maker’s shop  in  Church  Street,  a coach  with  four 
beautiful  white  horses,  and  a postilion  on  each  near- 
horse ; behind,  in  the  dicky,  a footman ; and  on  the 
box  a coachman,  all  dressed  in  livery.  The  coach-panel 
bore  a coat  of  arms  with  a coronet,  and  I presume  it 
must  have  been  the  equipage  of  the  Earl  of  Derby, 
A crowd  of  people  stood  round,  gazing  at  the  coach 
and  horses ; and  when  any  of  them  spoke,  it  was  in  a 
lower  tone  than  usual.  I doubt  not  they  all  had  a kind 
of  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle,  for  these  English  are 
strangely  proud  of  having  a class  above  them. 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


477 


Every  Englishman  runs  to  “ The  Times  ” with  his 
little  grievance,  as  a child  runs  to  his  mother. 

I was  sent  for  to  the  police  court  the  other  morning, 
in  the  case  of  an  American  sailor  accused  of  robbing 
a shipmate  at  sea.  A large  room,  with  a great  coal- 
fire  burning  on  one  side,  and  above  it,  the  portrait  of 
Mr.  Rushton,  deceased,  a magistrate  of  many  years’ 
continuance.  A long  table,  with  chairs,  and  a wit- 
ness-box. One  of  the  borough  magistrates,  a merchant 
of  the  city,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  paper  and 
pen  and  ink  before  him ; but  the  real  judge  was  the 
clerk  of  the  court,  whose  professional  knowledge  and 
experience  governed  all  the  proceedings.  In  the  short 
time  while  I was  waiting,  two  cases  were  tried,  in  the 
first  of  which  the  prisoner  was  discharged.  The  sec- 
ond case  was  of  a woman,  — a thin,  sallow,  hard-look- 
ing, careworn,  rather  young  woman,  — for  stealing  a 
pair  of  slippers  out  of  a shop.  The  trial  occupied  five 
minutes  or  less,  and  she  was  sentenced  to  twenty-one 
days’  imprisonment,  — whereupon,  without  speaking, 
she  looked  up  wildly  first  into  one  policeman’s  face, 
then  into  another’s,  at  the  same  time  wringing  her 
hands  with  no  theatric  gesture,  but  because  her  tor- 
ment took  this  outward  shape,  — and  was  led  away. 
The  Yankee  sailor  was  then  brought  up,  — an  intelli- 
gent, but  ruffian-like  fellow,  — and  as  the  case  was  out 
of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  English  magistrates,  and  as 
it  was  not  worth  while  to  get  him  sent  over  to  Amer- 
ica for  trial,  he  was  forthwith  discharged.  He  stole 
a comforter. 

If  mankind  were  all  intellect,  they  would  be  con- 
tinually changing,  so  that  one  age  would  be  entirely 


478 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


unlike  another.  The  great  conservative  is  the  heart, 
which  remains  the  same  in  all  ages  ; so  that  common- 
places of  a thousand  years’  standing  are  as  effective  as 
ever. 

Monday.^  Fehricary  20^A.  — At  the  police  court  on 
Saturday,  I attended  the  case  of  the  second  mate  and 
four  seamen  of  the  John  and  Albert,  for  assaulting, 
beating,  and  stabbing  the  chief  mate.  The  chief  mate 
has  been  in  the  hospital  ever  since  the  assault,  and 
was  l^rought  into  the  coirrt  to-day  to  give  evidence,  — 
a man  of  thirty,  black  hair,  black  eyes,  a dark  com- 
plexion, disagreeable  expression  ; sallow,  emaciated, 
feeble,  apparently  in  pain,  one  arm  disabled.  He  sat 
bent  and  drawn  upward,  and  had  evidently  been  se- 
verely hurt,  and  was  not  yet  fit  to  be  out  of  bed.  He 
had  some  brandy-and-water  to  enable  him  to  sustain 
himself.  He  gave  his  evidence  very  clearly,  beginning 
(sailor-like)  with  telling  in  what  quarter  the  wind  was 
at  the  time  of  the  assault,  and  which  sail  was  taken 
in.  His  testimony  bore  on  one  man  only,  at  whom  he 
cast  a vindictive  look ; but  I think  he  told  the  truth 
as  far  as  he  knew  and  remembered  it.  Of  the  prison- 
ers the  second  mate  was  a mere  youth,  with  long, 
sandy  hair,  and  an  intelligent  and  not  unprepossessing 
face,  dressed  as  neatly  as  a three  or  four  weeks’  cap- 
ture, with  small  or  no  means,  could  well  allow,  in  a 
frock-coat,  and  with  clean  linen,  — the  only  linen  or 
cotton  shirt  in  the  company.  The  other  four  were 
rude,  brutish  sailors,  in  flannel  or  red-baize  shirts. 
Three  of  them  appeared  to  give  themselves  little  con- 
cern ; but  the  fourth,  a red-haired  and  red-bearded 
man,  Paraman,  by  name,  — evidently  felt  the  press- 
ure of  the  case  upon  himself.  He  was  the  one  whom 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


479 


the  mate  swore  to  have  given  him  the  first  blow  ; and 
there  was  other  evidence  of  his  having  been  stabbed 
with  a knife.  The  captain  of  the  ship,  the  pilot,  the 
cook,  and  the  steward,  all  gave  their  evidence ; and  the 
general  bearing  of  it  was,  that  the  chief  mate  had  a 
devilish  temper,  and  had  misused  the  second  mate  and 
crew,  — that  the  four  seamen  had  attacked  him,  and 
that  Paraman  had  stabbed  him  ; while  all  but  the  stew- 
ard concurred  in  saying  that  the  second  mate  had  taken 
no  part  in  the  affray.  The  steward,  however,  swore  to 
having  seen  him  strike  the  chief  mate  with  a wooden 
marline-spike,  which  was  broken  by  the  blow.  The 
magistrate  dismissed  all  but  Paraman,  whom  I am  to 
send  to  America  for  trial.  In  my  opinion  the  chief 
mate  got  pretty  nearly  what  he  deserved,  under  the 
code  of  natural  justice.  While  business  was  going  for- 
ward, the  magistrate,  Mr.  Mansfield,  talked  about  a 
fancy  ball  at  which  he  had  been  present  the  evening 
before,  and  of  other  matters  grave  and  gay.  It  was 
very  informal ; we  sat  at  the  table,  or  stood  with  our 
backs  to  the  fire ; policemen  came  and  went ; wit- 
nesses were  sworn  on  the  greasiest  copy  of  the  Gos- 
pels I ever  saw,  polluted  by  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  perjured  kisses ; and  for  hours  the  prisoners  were 
kept  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  interested  to  the 
full  extent  of  their  capacity,  while  all  others  were  in- 
different. At  the  close  of  the  case,  the  police  officers 
and  witnesses  applied  to  me  about  their  expenses. 

Yesterday  I took  a walk  with  my  wife  and  two  chil- 
dren to  Bebbington  Church.  A beautifully  sunny 
morning.  My  wife  and  U.  attended  church,  J.  and  I 
continued  our  walk.  When  we  were  at  a little  dis- 
tance from  the  church,  the  bells  suddenly  chimed  out 
ivith  a most  cheerful  sound,  and  sunny  as  the  morning. 


480 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


It  is  a pity  we  have  no  chimes  of  bells,  to  give  the 
churchward  summons,  at  home.  People  were  stand- 
ing about  the  ancient  church-porch  and  among  the 
tombstones.  In  the  course  of  our  walk,  we  passed 
many  old  thatched  cottages,  built  of  stone,  and  with 
what  looked  like  a cow-house  or  pigsty  at  one  end, 
making  part  of  the  cottage  ; also  an  old  stone  farm- 
house, which  may  have  been  a residence  of  gentility 
in  its  day.  W e passed,  too,  a small  Methodist  chapel, 
making  one  of  a row  of  low  brick  edifices.  There  was 
a sound  of  prayer  within.  I never  saw  a more  unbeau- 
tiful place  of  worship  ; and  it  had  not  even  a separate 
existence  for  itself,  the  adjoining  tenement  being  an 
alehouse. 

The  grass  along  the  wayside  was  green,  with  a few 
daisies.  There  was  green  holly  in  the  hedges,  and  we 
passed  through  a wood,  up  some  of  the  tree-trunks  of 
which  ran  clustering  ivy. 

February  23^?.  — There  came  to  see  me  the  other 
day  a young  gentleman  with  a mustache  and  a blue 
cloak,  who  announced  himself  as  William  Allingham, 
and  handed  me  a copy  of  his  poems,  a thin  volume, 
with  paper  covers,  published  by  Routledge.  I thought 
I remembered  hearing  his  name,  but  had  never  seen 
any  of  his  works.  His  face  was  intelligent,  dark, 
pleasing,  and  not  at  all  John-Bullish.  He  said  that 
he  had  been  employed  in  the  Customs  in  Ireland,  and 
was  now  going  to  London  to  live  by  literature,  — to 
be  connected  with  some  newspaper,  I imagine.  He 
had  been  in  London  before,  and  was  acquainted  with 
some  of  the  principal  literary  people,  — among  others, 
Tennyson  and  Carlyle.  He  seemed  to  have  been  on 
tather  intimate  terms  with  Tennyson.  . , . We  talked 


LIVERPOOL. 


481 


1854.] 

awhile  in  my  dingy  and  dusky  Consulate^  and  he  then 
took  leav^e.  His  manners  are  good,  and  he  appears  to 
possess  independence  of  mind.  . . . 

Yesterday  I saw  a British  regiment  march  down  to 
George’s  Pier,  to  embark  in  the  Niagara  for  Malta. 
The  troops  had  nothing  very  remarkable  about  them  ; 
but  the  thousands  of  ragged  and  squalid  wretches,  who 
thronged  the  pier  and  streets  to  gaze  on  them,  were 
what  I had  not  seen  before  in  such  masses.  This  was 
the  first  populace  I ever  beheld ; for  even  the  Irish,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water,  acquire  a respectability  of 
aspect.  John  Bull  is  going  with  his  whole  heart  into 
the  Turkish  war.  He  is  very  foolish.  Whatever  the 
Czar  may  propose  to  himself,  it  is  for  the  interesli  of 
democracy  that  he  should  not  be  easily  put  down.  The 
regiment,  on  its  way  to  embark,  carried  the  Queen’s 
colors,  and,  side  by  side  with  them,  the  banner  of  the 
28th,  — - yellow,  with  the  names  of  the  Peninsular  and 
other  battles  in  which  it  had  been  engaged  inscribed 
on  it  in  a double  column.  It  is  a very  distinguished 
regiment ; and  Mr.  Henry  Bright  mentioned,  as  one 
of  its  distinctions,  that  Washington  had  formerly  been 
an  officer  in  it.  I never  heard  of  this. 


February  21  th.  — We  walked  to  Woodside  in  the 
pleasant  forenoon,  and  thence  crossed  to  Liverpool. 
On  our  way  to  Woodside,  we  saw  the  remains  of  the 
old  Birkenhead  Priory,  built  of  the  common  red  free- 
stone, much  time-worn,  with  ivy  creeping  over  it,  and 
birds  evidently  at  home  in  its  old  crevices.  These 
ruins  are  pretty  extensive,  and  seem  to  be  the  remains 
of  a quadrangle.  A handsome  modern  church,  like- 
wise of  the  same  red  freestone,  has  been  built  on  part 

VOL.  VII.  31 


482  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

of  the  site  occupied  by  the  Priory ; and  the  organ  was 
sounding  within  while  we  walked  about  the  premises. 
On  some  of  the  ancient  arches,  there  were  grotesquely 
carved  stone  faces.  The  old  w^alls  have  been  suffi- 
ciently restored  to  make  them  secure,  without  destroy- 
ing their  venerable  aspect.  It  is  a very  interesting 
spot ; and  so  much  the  more  so  because  a modern 
town,  with  its  brick  and  stone  houses,  its  flags  and 
pavements,  has  sprung  up  about  the  ruins,  which  were 
new  a thousand  years  ago.  The  station  of  the  Ches- 
ter railway  is  within  a hundred  yards.  Formerly  the 
Monks  of  this  Priory  kept  the  only  ferry  that  then 
existed  on  the  Mersey. 

% , . . . • . . • . 

At  a dinner  at  Mr.  Bramley  Moore’s  a little  while 
ago,  we  had  a prairie-hen  from  the  West  of  America. 
It  was  a very  delicate  bird,  and  a gentleman  carved  it 
most  skilfully  to  a dozen  guests,  and  had  still  a second 
slice  to  offer  to  them. 

Aboard  the  ferry-boat,  yesterday,  there  was  a labor- 
ing man  eating  oysters.  He  took  them  one  by  one 
from  his  pocket  in  interminable  succession,  opened 
them  with  his  jack-knife,  swallowed  each  one,  threw 
the  shell  overboard,  and  then  sought  for  another.  Hav- 
ing concluded  his  meal,  he  took  out  a clay  tobacco- 
pipe,  filled  it,  lighted  it  with  a match,  and  smoked  it, 
— all  this  while  the  other  passengers  were  looking  at 
him,  and  with  a perfect  coolness  and  independence, 
such  as  no  single  man  can  ever  feel  in  America.  Here 
a man  does  not  seem  to  consider  what  other  people 
will  think  of  his  conduct,  but  only  whether  it  suits  his 
own  convenience  to  do  so  and  so.  It  may  be  the  better 
way. 


LIVERPOOL. 


483 


1854.] 


A French  military  man,  a veteran  of  all  Napoleon’s 
wars,  is  now  living,  with  a false  leg  and  arm,  both 
movable  by  springs,  false  teeth,  a false  eye,  a silver 
nose  with  a flesh-colored  covering,  and  a silver  plate 
replacing  part  of  the  skull.  He  has  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor. 


March  13^A.  — On  Saturday  I went  with  Mr.  B 

to  the  Dingle,  a pleasant  domain  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mersey  almost  opposite  to  Rock  Ferry.  Walking 
home,  we  looked  into  Mr.  Thom’s  Unitarian  Chapel, 

Mr.  B ’s  family’s  place  of  worship.  There  is  a 

little  graveyard  connected  with  the  chapel,  a most  un- 
inviting and  unpicturesque  square  of  ground,  perhaps 
thirty  or  forty  yards  across,  in  the  midst  of  back 
fronts  of  city  buildings.  About  half  the  space  was 
occupied  by  flat  tombstones,  level  with  the  ground, 
the  remainder  being  yet  vacant.  Nevertheless,  there 
were  perhaps  more  names  of  men  generally  known  to 
the  world  on  these  few  tombstones  than  in  any  other 
churchyard  in  Liverpool,  — Roscoe,  Blanco  White, 
and  the  Rev.  William  Enfield,  whose  name  has  a 
classical  sound  in  my  ears,  because,  when  a little  boy, 
I used  to  read  his  ‘‘Speaker”  at  school.  In  the  vestry 
of  the  chapel  there  were  many  books,  chiefly  old  theo- 
logical works,  in  ancient  print  and  binding,  much  mil- 
dewed and  injured  by  the  damp.  The  body  of  the 
chapel  is  neat,  but  plain,  and,  being  not  very  large, 
has  a kind  of  social  and  family  aspect,  as  if  the  cler- 
gyman and  his  people  must  needs  have  intimate  rela- 
tions among  themselves.  The  Unitarian  sect  in  Liver- 
pool have,  as  a body,  great  wealth  and  respectability. 

Yesterday  I walked  with  my  wife  and  children  to 
the  brow  of  a hill,  overlooking  Birkenhead  and  Tran- 


484 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOORS, 


[1854. 


mere,  and  commanding  a fine  view  of  the  river,  and 
Liverpool  beyond.  All  round  about  new  and  neat  res- 
idences for  city  people  are  springing  up,  with  fine 
names,  — Eldon  Terrace,  Rose  Cottage,  Belvoir  Villa, 
etc.,  etc.,  with  little  patches  of  ornamented  garden  or 
lawn  in  front,  and  heaps  of  curious  rock-work,  with 
which  the  English  are  ridiculously  fond  of  adorning 
their  front  yards.  I rather  think  the  middling  classes 
= — meaning  shopkeepers,  and  other  respectabilities  of 
that  level  — are  better  lodged  here  than  in  America ; 
and,  what  I did  not  expect,  the  houses  are  a great 
deal  newer  than  in  our  new  country.  Of  course,  this 
can  only  be  the  case  in  places  circumstanced  like  Liv- 
erpool and  its  suburbs.  But,  scattered  among  these 
modern  villas,  there  are  old  stone  cottages  of  the  rud- 
est structure,  and  doubtless  hundreds  of  years  old, 
with  thatched  roofs,  into  which  the  grass  has  rooted 
itself,  and  now  looks  verdant.  These  cottages  are  in 
themselves  as  ngly  as  possible,  resembling  a large  kind 
of  pigsty;  but  often,  by  dint  of  the  verdure  on  their 
thatch  and  the  shrubbery  clustering  about  them,  they 
look  picturesque. 

The  old  - fashioned  flowers  in  the  gardens  of  New 
England  — blue  - bells,  crocuses,  primroses,  foxglove, 
and  many  others  — appear  to  be  wild  flowers  here  on 
English  soil.  There  is  something  very  touching  and 
pretty  in  this  fact,  that  the  Puritans  should  have 
carried  their  field  and  hedge  flowers,  and  nurtured 
them  in  their  gardens,  until,  to  us,  they  seem  entirely 
the  product  of  cultivation. 

March  IQth,  — Yesterday,  at  the  coroner’s  court,  at- 
tending the  inquest  on  a black  sailor  who  died  on 
board  an  American  vessel,  after  her  arrival  at  this 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


485 


port.  The  court  - room  is  capable  of  accommodating 
perhaps  fifty  people,  dingy,  with  a pyramidal  skylight 
above,  and  a single  window  on  one  side,  opening  into 
a gloomy  back  court.  A private  room,  also  lighted 
with  a pyramidal  skylight,  is  behind  the  court-room, 
into  which  I was  asked,  and  found  the  coroner,  a gray- 
headed,  grave,  intelligent,  broad,  red-faced  man,  with 
an  air  of  some  authority,  well  mannered  and  dignified, 
but  not  exactly  a gentleman,  — dressed  in  a blue  coat, 
with  a black  cravat,  showing  a shirt-collar  above  it. 
Considering  how  many  and  what  a variety  of  cases  of 
the  ugliest  death  are  constantly  coming  before  him,  he 
was  much  more  cheerful  than  could  be  expected,  and 
had  a kind  of  formality  and  orderliness  which  I sup- 
pose balances  the  exceptionalities  with  which  he  has 
to  deal.  In  the  private  room  with  him  was  likewise 
the  surgeon,  who  professionally  attends  the  court. 
We  chatted  about  suicide  and  such  matters,  — the 
surgeon,  the  coroner,  and  I,  — until  the  American  case 
was  ready,  when  we  adjourned  to  the  court-room,  and 
the  coroner  began  the  examination.  The  American 
captain  was  a rude,  uncouth  Down-Easter,  about  thirty 
years  old,  and  sat  on  a bench,  doubled  and  bent  into 
an  indescribable  attitude,  out  of  which  he  occasionally  * 
straightened  himself,  all  the  time  toying  with  a ruler, 
or  some  such  article.  The  case  was  one  of  no  inter- 
est ; the  man  had  been  frost-bitten,  and  died  from  nat- 
ural causes,  so  that  no  censure  was  deserved  or  passed 
upon  the  captain.  The  jury,  who  had  been  examining 
the  body,  were  at  first  inclined  to  think  that  the  man 
had  not  been  frost-bitten,  but  that  his  feet  had  been 
immersed  in  boiling  water ; but,  on  explanation  by  the 
surgeon,  readily  yielded  their  opinion,  and  gave  the 
verdict  which  the  coroner  put  into  their  mouths,  ex- 


486 


ENGLISH  NOTEBOOKS. 


[1854. 


-culpating  the  captain  from  all  blame.  In  fact,  it  is 
utterly  impossible  that  a jury  of  chance  individuals 
should  not  be  entirely  governed  by  the  judgment  of  so 
experienced  and  weighty  a man  as  the  coroner.  In 
the  court -room  were  two  or  three  police  officers  in 
uniform,  and  some  other  officials,  a very  few  idle  spec- 
tators, and  a few  witnesses  waiting  to  be  examined. 
And  while  the  case  was  going  forward,  a poor-looking 
woman  came  in,  and  I heard  her,  in  an  undertone, 
telling  an  attendant  of  a death  that  had  just  occurred. 
The  attendant  received  the  communication  in  a very 
quiet  and  matter-of-course  way,  said  that  it  should  be 
attended  to,  and  the  woman  retired. 

The  Diary  of  a Coroner  would  be  a work  likely 
to  meet  with  large  popular  acceptance.  A dark  pas- 
sageway, only  a few  yards  in  extent,  leads  from  the 
liveliest  street  in  Liverpool  to  this  coroner’s  court- 
room, where  all  the  discussion  is  about  murder  and 
suicide.  It  seems,  that,  after  a verdict  of  suicide  the 
corpse  can  only  be  buried  at  midnight,  without  relig- 
ious rites. 

“ His  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places,”  — applied 
• to  a successful  angler. 

A woman’s  chastity  consists,  like  an  onion,  of  a 
series  of  coats.  You  may  strip  off  the  outer  ones 
without  doing  much  mischief,  perhaps  none  at  all; 
but  you  keep  taking  off  one  after  another,  in  expecta- 
tion of  coming  to  the  inner  nucleus,  including  the 
whole  value  of  the  matter.  It  proves,  however,  that 
there  is  no  such  nucleus,  and  that  chastity  is  diffused 
through  the  whole  series  of  coats,  is  lessened  with 
the  removal  of  each,  and  vanishes  with  the  final  one 


LIVERPOOL. 


1854.] 


487 


which  you  supposed  would  introduce  you  to  the  hid- 
den pearl. 


March  23c?.  — Mr.  B.  and  I took  a cab  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  drove  out  of  the  city  in  the  direction 
of  Knowsley.  On  our  way  we  saw  many  gentlemen’s 
or  rich  people’s  places,  some  of  them  dignified  with 
the  title  of  Halls,  — with  lodges  at  their  gates,  and 
standing  considerably  removed  from  the  road.  The 
greater  part  of  them  were  built  of  brick,  — a material 
with  which  I have  not  been  accustomed  to  associate 
ideas  of  grandeur;  but  it  was  much  in  use  here  in 
Lancashire,  in  the  Elizabethan  age,  — more,  I think, 
than  now.  These  suburban  residences,  however,  are  of 
much  later  date  than  Elizabeth’s  time.  Among  other 
places,  Mr.  B.  called  at  the  Hazels,  the  residence  of 
Sir  Thomas  Birch,  a kinsman  of  his.  It  is  a large 
brick  mansion,  and  has  old  trees  and  shrubbery  about 
it,  the  latter  very  fine  and  verdant,  — hazels,  holly, 
rhododendron,  etc.  Mr.  B.  went  in,  and  shortly  after- 
wards Sir  Thomas  Birch  came  out,  — a very  frank 
and  hospitable  gentleman,  — and  pressed  me  to  enter 
and  take  luncheon,  which  latter  hospitality  I declined. 


His  house  is  in  very  nice  order.  He  had  a good 
many  pictures,  and,  amongst  them,  a small  portrait  of 
his  mother,  painted  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  when  a 
youth.  It  is  unfinished,  and  when  the  painter  was  at 
the  height  of  his  fame,  he  was  asked  to  finish  it.  But 
Lawrence,  after  looking  at  the  picture,  refused  to  re- 
touch it,  saying  that  there  was  a merit  in  this  early 
sketch  which  he  could  no  longer  attain.  It  was  really 
a very  beautiful  picture  of  a lovely  woman. 

Sir  Thomas  Birch  proposed  to  go  with  us  and  get 


488 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

US  admittance  into  Knowsley  Park,  where  we  could 
not  possibly  find  entrance  without  his  aid.  So  we 
went  to  the  stables,  where  the  old  groom  had  already 
shown  hospitality  to  our  cabman,  by  giving  his  horse 
some  provender,  and  himself  some  beer.  There  seemed 
to  be  a kindly  and  familiar  sort  of  intercourse  between 
the  old  servant  and  the  Baronet,  — each  of  them,  I 
presume,  looking  on  their  connection  as  indissolublco 

The  gate-warden  of  Knowsley  Park  was  an  old  wo- 
man, who  readily  gave  us  admittance  at  Sir  Thomas 
Birch’s  request.  The  family  of  the  Earl  of  Derby  is 
not  now  at  the  Park.  ...  It  was  a very  bad  time  of 
year  to  see  it ; the  trees  just  showing  the  earliest 
symptoms  of  vitality,  while  whole  acres  of  ground 
were  covered  with  large,  dry,  brown  ferns, — which  I 
suppose  are  very  beautiful  when  green.  Two  or  three 
hares  scampered  out  of  these  ferns,  and  sat  on  their 
hind  legs  looking  about  them,  as  we  drove  by.  A 
sheet  of  water  had  been  drawn  off,  in  order  to  deepen 
its  bed.  The  oaks  did  not  seem  to  me  so  magnificent 
as  they  should  be  in  an  ancient  noble  property  like 
this.  A century  does  not  accomplish  so  much  for  a 
tree,  in  this  slow  region,  as  it  does  in  ours.  I think, 
however,  that  they  were  more  individual  and  pictur- 
esque, with  more  character  in  their  contorted  trunks  ; 
therein  somewhat  resembling  apple-trees.  Our  forest- 
trees  have  a great  sameness  of  character,  like  our 
people,  — because  one  and  the  other  grow  too  closely. 

In  one  part  of  the  Park  we  can>e  to  a small  tower, 
for  what  purpose  I know  not,  unless  as  an  observa- 
tory; and  near  it  was  a marble  statue  on  a high  pedes- 
tal The  statue  had  been  long  exposed  to  the  weather, 
and  was  overgrown  and  ingrained  with  moss  and  li- 
chens, so  that  its  classic  beauty  was  in  some  sort  goth- 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


489 


icized,  A half-mile  or  so  from  this  point,  we  savv^  the 
mansion  of  Knowsley,  in  the  midst  of  a very  line  pros- 
pect, with  a tolerably  high  ridge  of  hills  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  house  itself  is  exceedingly  vast,  a front 
and  two  wings,  with  suites  of  rooms,  I suppose,  inter^ 
minable.  The  oldest  part.  Sir  Thomas  Birch  told  us, 
is  a tower  of  the  time  of  Henry  VII.  Nevertheless, 
the  effect  is  not  overwhelming,  because  the  edifice 
looks  low  in  proportion  to  its  great  extent  over  the 
ground ; and,  besides,  a good  deal  of  it  is  built  of  brick, 
with  white  window-frames,  so  that,  looking  at  separate 
parts,  I might  think  them  American  structures,  with- 
out the  smart  addition  of  green  Venetian  blinds,  so  uni- 
versal with  us.  Portions,  however,  were  built  of  red 
freestone ; and  if  I had  looked  at  it  longer,  no  doubt  I 
should  have  admired  it  more.  W e merely  drove  round 
it  from  the  rear  to  the  front.  It  stands  in  my  memory 
rather  like  a college  or  a hospital,  thrai  as  the  ancestral 
residence  of  a great  English  noble. 

We  left  the  Park  in  another  direction,  alid  passed 
through  a part  of  Lord  Sefton’s  property,  by  a private 
road. 

By  the  by,  we  saw  half  a dozen  policemen,  in  their 
blue  coats  and  embroidered  collars,  after  entering 
Knowsley  Park;  but  the  Earl’s  own  servants  would 
probably  have  supplied  their  place,  had  the  family 
been  at  home.  The  mansion  of  Croxteth,  the  seat  of 
Lord  Sefton,  stands  near  the  public  road,  and,  though 
large,  looked  of  rather  narrow  compass  after  Knows* 
ley. 

The  rooks  were  talking  together  very  loquaciously 
in  the  high  tops  of  the  trees  near  Sir  Thomas  Birch’s 
house,  it  being  now  their  building-time.  It  was  a very 


490  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854 

pleasant  sound,  the  noise  being  comfortably  softened 
by  the  remote  height.  Sir  Thomas  said  that  more  than 
half  a century  ago  the  rooks  used  to  inhabit  another 
grove  of  lofty  trees,  close  in  front  of  the  house  ; but 
being  noisy,  and  not  altogether  cleanly  in  their  hab" 
its,  the  ladies  of  the  family  grew  weary  of  them  and 
wished  to  remove  them.  Accordingly,  the  colony  was 
driven  away,  and  made  their  present  settlement  in  a 
grove  behind  the  house.  Ever  since  that  time  not  a 
rook  has  built  in  the  ancient  grove  ; every  year,  how- 
ever, one  or  another  pair  of  young  rooks  attempt  to 
build  among  the  deserted  tree-tops,  but  the  old  rooks 
tear  the  new  nest  to  pieces  as  often  as  it  is  put  to- 
gether. Thus,  either  the  memory  of  aged  individual 
rooks  or  an  authenticated  tradition  in  their  society  has 
preserved  the  idea  that  the  old  grove  is  forbidden  and 
inauspicious  to  them. 

A son  of  General  Arnold,  named  William  Fitch 
Arnold,  and  born  in  1794,  now  possesses  the  estate 
of  Little  Messenden  Abbey,  Bucks  County,  and  is  a 
magistrate  for  that  county.  He  was  formerly  Captain 
of  the  19th  Lancers.  He  has  now  two  sons  and  four 
daughters.  The  other  three  sons  of  General  Arnold, 
all  older  than  this  one,  and  all  military  men,  do  not 
appear  to  have  left  children ; but  a daughter  married 
to  Colonel  Phipps,  of  the  Mulgrave  family,  has  a son 
and  two  daughters.  I question  whether  any  of  our 
true-hearted  Revolutionary  heroes  have  left  a more 
prosperous  progeny  than  this  arch-traitor.  I should 
like  to  know  their  feelings  with  respect  to  their  am 
eestor. 


Ajml  Sd.  — I walked  with  J 


two  days  ago,  to 


1854. j 


LIVERPOOL, 


491 


Eastham,  a village  on  the  road  to  Chester,  and  five  or 
six  miles  from  Kock  Ferry.  On  our  way  we  passed 
through  a village,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a small 
stone  pillar,  standing  on  a pedestal  of  several  steps,  cn 
which  children  were  sitting  and  playing.  I take  it  to 
have  been  an  old  Catholic  cross  ; at  least,  I know  not 
what  else  it  is.  It  seemed  very  ancient.  Eastham  is 
the  finest  old  English  village  I have  seen,  with  many 
antique  houses,  and  with  altogether  a rural  and  pic- 
turesque aspect,  unlike  anything  in  America,  and  yet 
possessing  a familiar  look,  as  if  it  were  something  I 
had  dreamed  about.  There  were  thatched  stone  cot- 
tages intermixed  with  houses  of  a better  kind,  and 
likewise  a gateway  and  gravelled  walk,  that  perhaps 
gave  admittance  to  the  Squire’s  mansion.  It  was  not 
merely  one  long,  wide  street,  as  in  most  New  England 
villages,  but  there  were  several  crooked  ways,  gathering 
the  whole  settlement  into  a pretty  small  compass.  In 
the  midst  of  it  stood  a venerable  church  of  the  com- 
mon red  freestone,  with  a most  reverend  air,  consider- 
ably smaller  than  that  of  Bebbington,  but  more  beau- 
tiful and  looking  quite  as  old.  There  was  ivy  on  its 
spire  and  elsewhere.  It  looked  very  quiet  and  peace- 
ful, and  as  if  it  had  received  the  people  into  its  low 
arched  door  every  Sabbath  for  many  centuries.  There 
were  many  tombstones  about  it,  some  level  with  the 
ground,  some  raised  on  blocks  of  stone,  on  low  pillars, 
moss  - grown  and  weather-worn  ; and  probably  these 
were  but  the  successors  of  other  stones  that  had  quite 
crumbled  away,  or  been  buried  by  the  accumulation 
of  dead  men’s  dust  above  them.  In  the  centre  of  the 
churchyard  stood  an  old  yew-tree,  with  immense  trunk, 
which  was  all  decayed  within,  so  that  it  is  a wonder 
how  the  tree  retains  any  life,  — which,  nevertheless,  it 


492  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1854 

does.  It  was  called  ‘‘the  old  Yew  of  Eastham,’’  six 
hundred  years  ago ! 

After  passing  through  the  churchyard,  we  saw  the 
village  inn  on  the  other  side.  The  doors  were  fastened, 
but  a girl  peeped  out  of  the  window  at  us,  and  let  us 
in,  ushering  us  into  a very  neat  parlor.  There  was  a 
cheerful  fire  in  the  grate,  a straw  carpet  on  the  floor ^ 
a mahogany  sideboard,  and  a mahogany  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  ; and,  on  the  walls,  the  portraits 
of  mine  host  (no  doubt)  and  of  his  wife  and  daughters, 
— a very  nice  parlor,  and  looking  like  what  I might 
have  found  in  a country  tavern  at  home,  only  this  was 
an  ancient  house,  and  there  is  nothing  at  home  like 
the  glimpse,  from  the  window,  of  the  church,  and  its 
red,  ivy-grown  tower.  I ordered  some  lunch,  being 
waited  on  by  the  girl,  who  was  very  neat,  intelligent, 
and  comely,  — and  more  respectful  than  a New  Eng- 
land maid.  As  we  came  out  of  the  inn,  some  village 
urchins  left  their  play,  and  ran  to  me  begging,  calling 
me  “ Master ! They  turned  at  once  from  play  to 
begging,  and,  as  I gave  them  nothing,  they  turned  to 
their  play  again. 

This  village  is  too  far  from  Liverpool  to  have  been 
much  injured  as  yet  by  the  novelty  of  cockney  resi- 
dences, which  have  grown  up  almost  everywhere  else, 
so  far  as  I have  visited.  About  a mile  from  it,  how- 
ever, is  the  landing-place  of  a steamer  (which  runs 
regularly,  except  in  the  winter  months),  where  a large, 
new  hotel  is  built.  The  grounds  about  it  are  extensive 
and  well  wooded.  We  got  some  biscuits  at  the  hotel, 
and  I gave  the  waiter  (a  splendid  gentleman  in  black) 
four  halfpence,  being  the  surplus  of  a shilling.  He 
bowed  and  thanked  me  very  humbly.  An  American 
does  not  easily  bring  his  mind  to  the  small  measure 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


493 


of  English  liberality  to  servants  ; if  anything  is  to  be 
given,  we  are  ashamed  not  to  give  more,  especially  to 
clerical-looking  persons,  in  black  suits  and  white  neck- 
cloths. 

I stood  on  the  Exchange  at  noon,  to-day,  to  see  the 
88th  Kegiment,  the  Connaught  Kangers,  marching 
down  to  embark  for  the  East.  They  were  a body  of 
young,  healthy,  and  cheerful-looking  men,  and  looked 
greatly  better  than  the  dirty  crowd  that  thronged  to 
gaze  at  them.  The  royal  banner  of  England,  quarter- 
ing the  lion,  the  leopard,  and  the  harp,  waved  on  the 
town-house,  and  looked  gorgeous  and  venerable.  Here 
and  there  a woman  exchanged  greetings  with  an  in- 
dividual soldier,  as  he  marched  along,  and  gentlemen 
shook  hands  with  officers  with  whom  tliey  happened 
to  be  acquainted.  Being  a stranger  in  the  land,  it 
seemed  as  if  I could  see  the  future  in  the  present  bet- 
ter than  if  I had  been  an  Englishman  ; so  I questioned 
with  myself  how  many  of  these  ruddy-cheeked  young 
fellows,  marching  so  stoutly  away,  would  ever  tread 
English  ground  again.  The  populace  did  not  evince 
any  enthusiasm,  yet  there  could  not  possibly  be  a war 
to  which  the  country  could  assent  more  fully  than  to 
this.  I somewhat  doubt  whether  the  English  popu- 
lace really  feels  a vital  interest  in  the  nation. 

Some  years  ago,  a piece  of  rude  marble  sculpture, 
representing  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  was  found 
over  the  fireplace  of  a cottage  near  Rock  Ferry,  on 
the  road  to  Chester.  It  was  plastered  over  with  pipe- 
clay, and  its  existence  was  unknown  to  the  cottagers, 
until  a lady  noticed  the  projection  and  asked  what  it 
was.  It  was  supposed  to  have  originally  adorned  the 


494 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


walls  of  the  Priory  at  Birkenhead.  It  measured  four- 
teen and  a half  by  nine  inches,  in  which  space  were 
the  heads  of  a king  and  queen,  with  uplifted  hands, 
in  prayer ; their  daughters  also  in  prayer,  and  looking 
very*  grim ; a lamb,  the  slain  dragon,  and  St.  George, 
proudly  prancing  on  what  looks  like  a donkey,  bran- 
dishing  a sword  over  his  head. 

The  following  is  a legend  inscribed  on  the  inner 
margin  of  a curious  old  box : — 

“Frorh  Birkenhead  into  Hilbree 
A squirrel  might  leap  from  tree  to  tree/* 

I do  not  know  where  Hilbree  is  ; but  all  round  Bir- 
kenhead a squirrel  would  scarcely  find  a single  tree  to 
climb  upon.  All  is  pavement  and  brick  buildings  now. 

Good  Friday,  — The  English  and  Irish  think  it 
good  to  plant  on  this  day,  because  it  was  the  day  when 
our  Saviour’s  body  was  laid  in  the  grave.  Seeds, 
therefore,  are  certain  to  rise  again. 

At  dinner  the  other  day,  Mrs.  mentioned  the 

origin  of  Franklin’s  adoption  of  the  customary  civil 
dress,  when  going  to  court  as  a diplomatist.  It  was 
simply  that  his  tailor  had  disappointed  him  of  his 
court  suit,  and  he  wore  his  plain  one  with  great  reluc- 
tance, because  he  had  no  other.  Afterwards,  gaining 
great  success  and  praise  by  his  mishap,  he  continued 
to  wear  it  from  policy. 

The  grandmother  of  Mrs. died  fifty  years  ago, 

at  the  age  of  twenty-eight.  She  had  great  personal 
charms,  and  among  them  a head  of  beautiful  chestnut 
hair.  After  her  burial  in  a family  tomb,  the  coffin  of 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


496 


one  of  her  children  was  laid  on  her  own,  so  that  the 
lid  seems  to  have  decayed,  or  been  broken  from  this 
cause  ; at  any  rate,  this  was  the  case  when  the  tomb 
was  opened  about  a year  ago.  The  grandmother’s 
coffin  was  then  found  to  be  filled  with  beautiful^ 
glossy,  living  chestnut  ringlets,  into  which  her  whole 
substance  seems  to  have  been  transformed,  for  there 
was  nothing  else  but  these  shining  curls,  the  growth 
of  half  a century  in  the  tomb.  An  old  man,  with  a 
ringlet  of  his  youthful  mistress  treasured  on  his  heart, 
might  be  supposed  to  witness  this  wonderful  thing. 

Madam , who  is  now  at  my  house,  and  very 

infirm,  though  not  old,  was  once  carried  to  the  grave, 
and  on  the  point  of  being  buried.  It  was  in  Barbary, 
where  her  husband  was  Consul-General.  He  was 
greatly  attached  to  her,  and  told  the  pall-bearers  at 
the  grave  that  he  must  see  her  once  more.  When  her 
face  was  uncovered,  he  thought  he  discerned  signs  of 
life,  and  felt  a warmth.  Finally  she  revived,  and  for 
many  years  afterwards  supposed  the  funeral  proces- 
sion to  have  been  a dream  ; she  having  been  partially 
conscious  throughout,  and  having  felt  the  wind  blow- 
ing on  her,  and  lifting  the  shroud  from  her  feet,  — 
for  I presume  she  was  to  be  buried  in  Oriental  style, 
without  a coffin.  Long  after,  in  London,  when  she 
was  speaking  of  this  dream,  her  husband  told  her  the 
facts,  and  she  fainted  away.  Whenever  it  is  now 

mentioned,  her  face  turns  white.  Mr. •,  her  son^ 

was  born  on  shipboard,  on  the  coast  of  Spain,  and 
claims  four  nationalities,  — those  of  Spain,  England, 
Ireland,  and  the  United  States ; his  father  being  Irish, 
his  mother  a native  of  England,  himself  a naturalized 
citizen  of  the  United  States,  and  his  father  having 


496 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


registered  his  birth  and  baptism  in  a Catholic  church 
of  Gibraltar,  which  gives  him  Spanish  privileges.  He 
has  hereditary  claims  to  a Spanish  countship. ' His 
infancy  was  spent  in  Barbary,  and  his  lips  first  lisped 
in  Arabic.  There  has  been  an  unsettled  and  wander^ 
ing  character  in  his  whole  life. 

The  grandfather  of  Madam , who  was  a British 

officer,  once  horsewhipped  Paul  Jones,  — Jones  being 
a poltroon.  How  singular  it  is  that  the  personal  cour- 
age of  famous  warriors  should  be  so  often  called  in 
question ! 

May  20^7i.  — I went  yesterday  to  a hospital  to  take 
the  oath  of  a mate  to  a protest.  He  had  met  with  a 
severe  accident  by  a fall  on  shipboard.  The  hospital 
is  a large  edifice  of  red  freestone,  with  wide  airy  pas- 
sages, resounding  with  footsteps  passing  through  them. 
A porter  was  waiting  in  the  vestibule.  Mr.  Wilding 
and  myself  were  shown  to  the  parlor,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, — a neat,  plainly  furnished  room,  with  news- 
papers and  pamphlets  lying  on  the  table  and  sofas. 
Soon  the  surgeon  of  the  house  came,  — a brisk,  alac- 
ritoLis,  civil,  cheerful  young  man,  by  whom  we  were 
shown  to  the  apartment  where  the  mate  was  lying. 
As  we  went  through  the  principal  passage,  a man  was 
borne  along  in  a chair  looking  very  pale,  rather  wild, 
and  altogether  as  if  he  had  just  been  through  great 
tribulation,  and  hardly  knew  as  yet  whereabouts  he 
was.  I noticed  that  his  left  arm  was  but  a stump, 
and  seemed  done  up  in  red  baize,  — at  all  events  it  was 
of  a scarlet  hue.  The  surgeon  shook  his  right  hand 
cheerily,  and  he  was  carried  on.  This  was  a patient 
who  had  just  had  his  arm  cut  off.  He  had  been  a 
rough  person  apparently,  but  now  there  was  a kind  of 
tenderness  about  him,  through  pain  and  helplessness. 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


497 


In  the  chamber  where  the  mate  lay,  there  were 
seven  beds,  all  of  them  occupied  by  persons  who  had 
met  with  accidents.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a 
stationary  pine  table,  about  the  length  of  a man,  in- 
tended, I suppose,  to  stretch  patients  upon  for  nec- 
essary operations.  The  furniture  of  the  beds  was  plain 
and  homely.  I thought  that  the  faces  of  the  patients 
all  looked  remarkably  intelligent,  though  they  were 
evidently  men  of  the  lower  classes.  Suffering  had 
educated  them  morally  and  intellectually.  They  gazed 
curiously  at  Mr.  Wilding  and  me,  but  nobody  said  a 
word.  In  the  bed  next  to  the  mate  lay  a little  boy 
with  a broken  thigh.  The  surgeon  observed  that  chil- 
dren generally  did  well  with  accidents  ; and  this  boy 
certainly  looked  very  bright  and  cheerful.  There  was 
nothing  particularly  interesting  about  the  mate. 

After  finishing  our  business,  the  surgeon  showed  us 
into  another  room  of  the  surgical  ward,  likewise  de- 
voted to  cases  of  accident  and  injury.  All  the  beds 
were  occupied,  and  in  two  of  them  lay  two  American 
sailors  who  had  recently  been  stabbed.  They  had  been 
severely  hurt,  but  were  doing  very  well.  The  surgeon 
thought  that  it  was  a good  arrangement  to  have  sev- 
eral cases  together,  and  that  the  patients  kept  up 
one  another’s  spirits,  — being  often  merry  together. 
Smiles  and  laughter  may  operate  favorably  enough 
from  bed  to  bed  ; but  dying  groans,  I should  think, 
must  be  somewhat  of  a discouragement.  Neverthe- 
less, the  previous  habits  and  modes  of  life  of  such 
people  as  compose  the  more  numerous  class  of  patients 
in  a hospital  must  be  considered  before  deciding  this 
matter.  It  is  very  possible  that  their  misery  likes 
such  bedfellows  as  it  here  finds. 

As  we  were  taking  our  leave,  the  surgeon  asked  us 

VOL.  VII.  32 


498 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


if  we  should  not  like  to  see  the  operating-room ; and 
before  we  could  reply  he  threw  open  the  door,  and 
behold,  there  was  a roll  of  linen  “ garments  rolled  in 
blood,”  — and  a bloody  fragment  of  a human  arm  ! 
The  surgeon  glanced  at  me,  and  smiled  kindly,  but  as 
if  pitying  my  discomposure. 

Gervase  Elwes,  son  of  Sir  Gervase  Elwes,  Baronet, 
of  Stoke,  Suffolk,  married  Isabella,  daughter  of  Sir 
Thomas  Hervey,  Knight,  and  sister  of  the  first  Earl 
of  Bristol.  This  Gervase  died  before  his  father,  but 
left  a son,  Henry,  who  succeeded  to  the  Baronetcy. 
Sir  Henry  died  without  issue,  and  was  succeeded  by 
his  sister’s  son,  John  Maggott  Twining,  who  assumed 
the  name  of  Elwes.  He  was  the  famous  miser,  and 
must  have  had  Hawthorne  blood  in  him,  through  his 
grandfather,  Gervase,  whose  mother  was  a Hawthorne. 
It  was  to  this  Gervase  that  my  ancestor,  William  Haw- 
thorne, devised  some  land  in  Massachusetts,  ‘‘  if  he 
would  come  over,  and  enjoy  it.”  My  ancestor  calls 
him  his  nephew. 

June  Vlth,  — Barry  Cornwall,  Mr.  Procter,  called 
on  me  a week  or  more  ago,  but  I happened  not  to  be 
in  the  office.  Saturday  last  he  called  again,  and  as  I 
had  crossed  to  Rock  Park  he  followed  me  thither.  A 
plain,  middle-sized,  English  - looking  gentleman,  el- 
derly, with  short  white  hair,  and  particularly  quiet  in 
his  manners.  He  talks  in  a somewhat  low  tone  with- 
out emphasis,  scarcely  distinct.  . . . His  head  has  a 
good  outline,  and  would  look  well  in  marble.  I liked 
him  very  well.  He  talked  unaffectedly,  showing  an 
author’s  regard  to  his  reputation,  and  was  evidently 
pleased  to  hear  of  his  American  celebrity.  He  said 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


499 


that  in  his  younger  days  he  was  a scientific  pugilist, 
and  once  took  a journey  to  have  a sparring  encounter 
with  the  Game-Chicken.  Certainly,  no  one  would  have 
looked  for  a pugilist  in  this  subdued  old  gentleman* 
He  is  now  Commissioner  of  Lunacy,  and  makes  pe- 
riodical circuits  through  the  country,  attending  to  the 
business  of  his  office.  He  is  slightly  deaf,  and  this 
may  be  the  cause  of  his  unaccented  utterance,  — ow- 
ing to  his  not  being  able  to  regulate  his  voice  exactly 
by  his  own  ear.  . . . He  is  a good  man,  and  much 
better  expressed  by  his  real  name,  Procter,  than  by 
his  poetical  one,  Barry  Cornwall.  . . . He  took  my 
hand  in  both  of  his  at  parting.  . . . 

June  11  th, — At  eleven,  at  this  season  (and  how 
much  longer  I know  not),  there  is  still  a twilight.  If 
we  could  only  have  such  dry,  deliciously  warm  even- 
ings as  we  used  to  have  in  our  own  land,  what  enjoy- 
ment there  might  be  in  these  interminable  twilights ! 
But  here  we  close  the  window-shutters,  and  make  our- 
selves cosey  by  a coal-fire. 

All  three  of  the  children,  and,  I think,  my  wife  and 
myself,  are  going  through  the  hooping-cough.  The 
east-wind  of  this  season  and  region  is  most  horrible. 
There  have  been  no  really  warm  days ; for  though  the 
sunshine  is  sometimes  hot,  there  is  never  any  diffused 
heat  throughout  the  air.  On  passing  from  the  sun- 
shine into  the  shade,  we  immediately  feel  too  cool. 

June  2S)tJi.  — The  vagabond  musicians  about  town 
are  very  numerous.  On  board  the  steam  ferry-boats, 
I have  heretofore  spoken  of  them.  They  infest  them 
from  May  to  November,  for  very  little  gain  appar- 
ently. A shilling  a day  per  man  must  be  the  utmost 


500  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

of  their  emolument.  It  is  rather  sad  to  see  somewhat 
respectable  old  men  engaged  in  this  way,  with  two 
or  three  younger  associates.  Their  instruments  look 
much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  even  my  unmusical  ear 
can  distinguish  more  discord  than  harmony.  They 
appear  to  be  a very  quiet  and  harmless  people.  Some- 
times there  is  a woman  playing  on  a fiddle,  while  her 
husband  blows  a wind  instrument.  In  the  streets  it 
is  not  unusual  to  find  a band  of  half  a dozen  perform- 
ers, who,  without  any  provocation  or  reason  whatever, 
sound  their  brazen  instruments  till  the  houses  reecho. 
Sometimes  one  passes  a man  who  stands  whistling 
a tune  most  unweariably,  though  I never  saw  any- 
body give  him  anything.  The  ballad-singers  are  the 
strangest,  from  the  total  lack  of  any  music  in  their 
cracked  voices.  Sometimes  you  see  a space  cleared  in 
the  street,  and  a foreigner  playing,  while  a girl  — 
weather-beaten,  tanned,  and  wholly  uncomely  in  face 
and  shabby  in  attire  — dances  ballets.  The  common 
people  look  on,  and  never  criticise  or  treat  any  of 
these  poor  devils  unkindly  or  uncivilly ; but  I do  not 
observe  that  they  give  them  anything. 

A crowd  — or,  at  all  events,  a moderate-sized  group 
— is  much  more  easily  drawn  together  here  than  with 
us.  The  people  have  a good  deal  of  idle  and  momen- 
tary curiosity,  and  are  always  ready  to  stop  when  an- 
other person  has  stopped,  so  as  to  see  what  has  at- 
tracted his  attention.  I hardly  ever  pause  to  look  at  a 
shop  - window  without  being  immediately  incommoded 
by  boys  and  men,  who  stop  likewise,  and  would  forth- 
with throng  the  pavement  if  I did  not  move  on. 

June  30^A. — If  it  is  not  known  how  and  when  a 
man  dies,  it  makes  a ghost  of  him  for  many  years 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


501 


thereafter,  perhaps  for  centuries.  King  Arthur  is  an 
example ; also  the  Emperor  Frederick,  and  other  fa- 
mous men,  who  were  thought  to  be  alive  ages  after 
their  disappearance.  So  with  private  individuals.  I 
had  an  uncle  John,  who  went  a voyage  to  sea  about 
the  beginning  of  the  War  of  1812,  and  has  never 
returned  to  this  hour.  But  as  long  as  his  mother 
lived,  as  many  as  twenty  years,  she  never  gave  up  the 
hope  of  his  return,  and  was  constantly  hearing  stories 
of  persons  whose  description  answered  to  his.  Some 
people  actually  affirmed  that  they  had  seen  him  in 
various  parts  of  the  world.  Thus,  so  far  as  her  belief 
was  concerned,  he  still  walked  the  earth.  And  even 
to  this  day  I never  see  his  name,  which  is  no  very  un- 
common one,  without  thinking  that  this  may  be  the 
lost  uncle. 

Thus,  too,  the  French  Dauphin  still  exists,  or  a kind 
of  ghost  of  him ; the  three  Tells,  too,  in  the  cavern  of 
Uri. 

July  Qth.  — Mr.  Cecil,  the  other  day,  was  saying 
that  England  could  produce  as  fine  peaches  as  any 
other  country.  I asked  what  was  the  particular  ex- 
cellence of  a peach,  and  he  answered,  “Its  cooling 
and  refreshing  quality,  like  that  of  a melon!  ” Just 
think  of  this  idea  of  the  richest,  most  luscious,  of  all 
fruits ! But  the  untravelled  Englishman  has  no  more 
idea  of  what  fruit  is  than  of  what  sunshine  is;  he 
thinks  he  has  tasted  the  first  and  felt  the  last,  but 
they  are  both  alike  watery.  I heard  a lady  in  Lord 
Street  talking  about  the  “ broiling  sun,”  when  I was 
almost  in  a shiver^  They  keep  up  their  animal  heat 
by  means  of  wine  and  ale,  else  they  could  not  bear 
this  climate. 


602 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


JulyV^th.  — A week  ago  I made  a little  tour  in 
North  Wales  with  Mr.  Bright.  We  left  Birkenhead 
by  railway  for  Chester  at  two  o’clock;  thence  for 
Bangor  ; thence  by  carriage  over  the  Menai  Bridge  to 
Beaumaris.  At  Beaumaris,  a fine  old  castle,  — quite 
coming  up  to  my  idea  of  what  an  old  castle  should  be. 
A gray,  ivy-hung  exterior  wall,  with  large  round 
towers  at  intervals ; within  this  another  wall,  the 
place  of  the  portcullis  between ; and  again,  within  the 
second  wall  the  castle  itself,  with  a spacious  green 
court-yard  in  front.  The  outer  wall  is  so  thick  that  a 
passage  runs  in  it  all  round  the  castle,  which  covers  a 
space  of  three  acres.  This  passage  gives  aceess  to  a 
chapel,  still  very  perfect,  and  to  various  apartments  in 
the  towers,  — all  exceedingly  dismal,  and  giving  very 
unpleasant  impressions  of  the  way  in  which  the  garri- 
son of  the  castle  lived.  The  main  castle  is  entirely 
roofless,  but  the  hall  and  other  rooms  are  pointed  out 
by  the  guide,  and  the  whole  is  tapestried  with  abun- 
dant ivy,  so  that  my  impression  is  of  gray  walls,  with 
here  and  there  a vast  green  curtain ; a carpet  of  green 
over  the  floors  of  halls  and  apartments ; and  festoons 
around  all  the  outer  battlement,  with  an  uneven  and 
rather  perilous  foot-path  running  along  the  top.  There 
is  a fine  vista  through  the  castle  itself,  and  the  two 
gateways  of  the  two  encompassing  walls.  The  pas- 
sage within  the  wall  is  very  rude,  both  underfoot 
and  on  each  side,  with  various  ascents  and  descents  of 
rough  steps,  — sometimes  so  low  that  your  head  is  in 
danger;  and  dark,  except  where  a little  light  comes 
through  a loophole  or  window  in  the  thickness  of  the 
wall.  In  front  of  the  castle  a tennis-eourt  was  fitted 
up,  by  laying  a smooth  pavement  on  the  ground,  and 
casing  the  walls  with  tin  or  zinc,  if  1 recollect  aright. 


1854.] 


NORTH  WALES, 


503 


All  this  was  open  to  the  sky ; and  when  we  were 
there,  some  young  men  of  the  town  were  playing  at 
the  game.  There  are  but  very  few  of  these  tennis- 
courts  in  England ; and  this  old  castle  was  a very 
strange  place  for  one. 

The  castle  is  the  property  of  Sir  Richard  Bulkely, 
whose  seat  is  in  the  vicinity,  and  who  owns  a great 
part  of  the  island  of  Anglesea,  on  which  Beaumaris 
lies.  The  hotel  where  we  stopped  was  the  Bulkely 
Arms,  and  Sir  Richard  has  a kind  of  feudal  influence 
in  the  town. 

In  the  morning  we  walked  along  a delightful  road, 
bordering  on  the  Menai  Straits,  to  Bangor  Ferry.  It 
was  really  a very  pleasant  road,  overhung  by  a growth 
of  young  wood,  exceedingly  green  and  fresh.  English 
trees  are  green  all  about  their  stems,  owing  to  the 
creeping  plants  that  overrun  them.  There  were  some 
flowers  in  the  hedges,  such  as  we  cultivate  in  gardens. 
At  the  ferry,  there  was  a whitewashed  cottage ; a 
woman  or  two,  some  children,  and  a fisherman-like 
personage,  walking  to  and  fro  before  the  door.  The 
scenery  of  the  strait  is  veiy  beautiful  and  picturesque, 
and  directly  opposite  to  us  lay  Bangor,  — the  strait 
being  here  almost  a mile  across.  An  American  ship 
from  Boston  lay  in  the  middle  of  it.  The  ferry-boat 
was  just  putting  off  from  the  Bangor  side,  and,  by  the 
aid  of  a sail,  soon  neared  the  shore. 

At  Bangor  we  went  to  a handsome  hotel,  and  hired 
a carriage  and  two  horses  for  some  Welsh  place,  the 
name  of  which  I forget;  neither  can  I remember  a 
single  name  of  the  places  through  which  we  posted 
that  day,  nor  could  I spell  them  if  I heard  them  pro^ 
nounced,  nor  pronounce  them  if  I saw  them  spelt.  It 
was  a circuit  of  about  forty  miles,  bringing  us  to  Com 


604  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

way  at  last.  I remember  a great  slate-quarry;  and 
also  that  many  of  the  cottages,  in  the  first  part  of 
our  drive,  were  built  of  blocks  of  slate.  The  moun- 
tains were  very  bold,  thrusting  themselves  up  abruptly 
in  peaks,  — not  of  the  dumpling  formation,  which  is 
somewhat  too  prevalent  among  the  New  England 
mountains.  At  one  point  we  saw  Snowdon,  with  its 
bifold  summit.  We  also  visited  the  smaller  waterfall 
(this  is  a translation  of  an  unpronounceable  Welsh 
name),  which  is  the  largest  in  Wales.  It  was  a very 
beautiful  rapid,  and  the  guide-book  considers  it  equal 
in  sublimity  to  Niagara.  Likewise  there  were  one  or 
two  lakes  which  the  guide-book  greatly  admired,  but 
which  to  me,  who  remembered  a hundred  sheets  of 
blue  water  in  New  England,  seemed  nothing  more 
than  sullen  and  dreary  puddles,  with  bare  banks,  and 
wholly  destitute  of  beauty.  I think  they  were  no- 
where more  than  a hundred  yards  across.  But  the 
hills  were  certainly  very  good,  and,  though  generally 
bare  of  trees,  their  outlines  thereby  were  rendered  the 
stronger  and  more  striking. 

Many  of  the  Welsh  women,  particularly  the  elder 
ones,  wear  black  beaver  hats,  high-crowned,  and  al- 
most precisely  like  men’s.  It  makes  them  look  ugly 
and  witch-like.  W elsh  is  still  the  prevalent  language, 
and  the  only  one  spoken  by  a great  many  of  the  in- 
habitants. I have  had  W elsh  people  in  my  office,  on 
official  business,  with  whom  I could  not  communicate 
except  through  an  interpreter. 

At  some  unutterable  village  we  went  into  a little 
church,  where  we  saw  an  old  stone  image  of  a warrior, 
lying  on  his  back,  with  his  hands  clasped.  It  was  the 
natural  son  (if  I remember  rightly)  of  David,  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  was  doubtless  the  better  part  of  a thou- 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


505 


sand  years  old.  There  was  likewise  a stone  coffin  of 
still  greater  age  ; some  person  of  rank  and  renown 
had  mouldered  to  dust  within  it,  but  it  was  now  open 
and  empty.  Also,  there  were  monumental  brasses  on 
the  walls,  engraved  with  portraits  of  a gentleman  and 
lady  in  the  costumes  of  Elizabeth’s  time.  Also,  on 
one  of  the  pews,  a brass  record  of  some  persons  who 
slept  in  the  vault  beneath ; so  that,  every  Sunday,  the 
survivors  and  descendants  kneel  and  worship  directly 
over  their  dead  ancestors.  In  the  churchyard,  on  a 
flat  tombstone,  there  was  the  representation  of  a harp. 
I supposed  that  it  must  be  the  resting-place  of  a bard  ; 
but  the  inscription  was  in  memory  of  a merchant,  and 
a skilful  manufacturer  of  harps. 

This  was  a very  delightful  town.  We  saw  a great 
many  things  which  it  is  now  too  late  to  describe,  the 
sharpness  of  the  first  impression  being  gone  ; but  I 
think  I can  produce  something  of  the  sentiment  of  it 
hereafter. 

W e arrived  at  Conway  late  in  the  afternoon,  to  take 
the  rail  for  Chester.  I must  see  Conway,  with  its  old 
gray  wall  and  its  unrivalled  castle,  again.  It  was  bet- 
ter than  Beaumaris,  and  I never  saw  anything  more 
picturesque  than  the  prospect  from  the  castle-wall  to- 
wards the  sea.  We  reached  Chester  at  10  p.  m.  The 
next  morning,  Mr.  Bright  left  for  Liverpool  before  I 
was  awake.  I visited  the  Cathedral,  where  the  organ 
was  sounding,  sauntered  through  the  Rows,  bought 
some  playthings  for  the  children,  and  left  for  home 
soon  after  twelve. 

Liverpool.,  August  %th,  — Visiting  the  Zoological 

Gardens  the  other  day  with  J , it  occurred  to  me 

what  a fantastic  kind  of  life  a person  connected  with 


506  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

them  might  be  depicted  as  leading,  — a child,  for  in- 
stance. The  grounds  are  very  extensive,  and  include 
arrangements  for  all  kinds  of  exhibitions  calculated  to 
attract  the  idle  people  of  a great  city.  In  one  enclos- 
ure is  a bear,  who  climbs  a pole  to  get  cake  and  gin- 
gerbread from  the  spectators.  Elsewhere,  a circular 
building,  with  compartments  for  lions,  wolves,  and 
tigers.  In  another  part  of  the  garden  is  a colony  of 
monkeys,  the  skeleton  of  an  elephant,  birds  of  all 
kinds.  Swans  and  various  rare  water-fowl  were  swim- 
ming on  a piece  of  water,  which  was  green,  by  the  by, 
and  when  the  fowls  dived  they  stirred  up  black  mud. 
A stork  was  parading  along  the  margin,  with  melan- 
choly strides  of  its  long  legs,  and  came  slowly  towards 
us,  as  if  for  companionship.  In  one  apartment  was  an 
obstreperously  noisy  society  of  parrots  and  macaws, 
most  gorgeous  and  diversified  of  hue.  These  different 
colonies  of  birds  and  beasts  were  scattered  about  in 
various  parts  of  the  grounds,  so  that  you  came  upon 
them  unexpectedly.  Also,  there  were  archery  and 
shooting-grounds,  and  a swing.  A theatre,  also,  at 
which  a rehearsal  was  going  on,  — we  standing  at  one 
of  the  doors,  and  looking  in  towards  the  dusky  stage 
where  the  company  in  their  ordinary  dresses  were  re- 
hearsing something  that  had  a good  deal  of  dance  and 
action  in  it.  In  the  open  air  there  was  an  arrange- 
ment of  painted  scenery  representing  a wide  expanse 
of  mountains,  with  a city  at  their  feet,  and  before  it 
the  sea,  with  actual  water,  and  large  vessels  upon  it, 
the  vessels  having  only  the  side  that  would  be  pre- 
sented to  the  spectator.  But  the  scenery  was  so  good 
that  at  a first  casual  glance  I almost  mistook  it  for 
reality.  There  was  a refreshment-room,  with  drinks 
and  cakes  and  pastry,  but,  so  far  as  I saw,  no  substan- 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


507 


tial  victual.  About  in  the  centre  of  the  garden  there 
was  an  actual,  honiely-looking,  small  dwelling-house, 
where  perhaps  the  overlookers  of  the  place  live.  Now 
this  might  be  wrought,  in  an  imaginative  description, 
into  a pleasant  sort  of  a fool’s  paradise,  where  all  sorts 
of  unreal  delights  should  cluster  round  some  suitable 
personage ; and  it  would  relieve,  in  a very  odd  and  ef= 
fective  way,  the  stern  realities  of  life  on  the  outside  of 
the  garden-walls.  I saw  a little  girl,  simply  dressed, 
who  seemed  to  have  her  habitat  within  the  grounds. 
There  was  also  a daguerreotypist,  with  his  wife  and 
family,  carrying  on  his  business  in  a shanty,  and  per- 
haps having  his  home  in  its  inner  room.  He  seemed 
to  be  an  honest,  intelligent,  pleasant  young  man,  and 
his  wife  a pleasant  woman;  and  I had  J ’s  da- 

guerreotype taken  for  three  shillings,  in  a little  gilded 
frame.  In  the  description  of  the  garden,  the  velvet 
turf,  of  a charming  verdure,  and  the  shrubbery  and 
shadowy  walks  and  large  trees,  and  the  slopes  and  in- 
equalities of  ground,  must  not  be  forgotten.  In  one 
place  there  was  a maze  and  labyrinth,  where  a person 
might  wander  a long  while  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  get 
out,  although  all  the  time  looking  at  the  exterior  gar- 
den, over  the  low  hedges  that  border  the  walks  of  the 
maze.  And  this  is  like  the  inappreciable  difficulties 
that  often  beset  us  in  life. 

I will  see  it  again  before  long,  and  get  some  addi- 
tional record  of  it. 

August  10th.  — We  went  to  the  Isle  of  Man,  a few 
weeks  ago,  where  S and  the  children  spent  a fort- 

night. I spent  two  Sundays  with  them. 

I never  saw  anything  prettier  than  the  little  church 
of  Kirk  Madden  there.  It  stands  in  a perfect  seclu- 


508 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


sion  of  shadowy  trees,  — a plain  little  church,  that 
would  not  he  at  all  remarkable  in  another  situation, 
but  is  most  picturesque  in  its  solitude  and  bowery  en- 
vironment. The  churchyard  is  quite  full  and  overflow- 
ing with  graves,  and  extends  down  the  gentle  slope  of 
a hill,  with  a dark  mass  of  shadow  above  it.  Some  of 
the  tombstones  are  flat  on  the  ground,  some  erect,  or 
laid  horizontally  on  low  pillars  or  masonry.  There 
were  no  very  old  dates  on  any  of  these  stones  ; for  the 
climate  soon  effaces  inscriptions,  and  makes  a stone  of 
fifty  years  look  as  old  as  one  of  five  hundred,  — unless 
it  be  slate,  or  something  harder  than  the  usual  red 
freestone.  There  was  an  old  Runic  monument,  how- 
ever, near  the  centre  of  the  churchyard,  that  had  some 
strange  sculpture  on  it,  and  an  inscription  still  legible 
by  persons  learned  in  such  matters.  Against  the  tower 
of  the  church,  too,  there  is  a circular  stone,  with  carv- 
ing on  it,  said  to  be  of  immemorial  antiquity.  There 
is  likewise  a tall  marble  monument,  as  much  as  fifty 
feet  high,  erected  some  years  ago  to  the  memory  of  one 
of  the  Athol  family  by  his  brother-officers  of  a local 
regiment  of  which  he  was  colonel.  At  one  of  the  side- 
entrances  of  the  church,  and  forming  the  threshold 
within  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  so  that  the  feet  of  all 
who  enter  must  tread  on  it,  is  a flat  tombstone  of  some- 
body who  felt  himself  a sinner,  no  doubt,  and  desired 
to  be  thus  trampled  upon.  The  stone  is  much  worn. 

The  structure  is  extremely  plain  inside  and  very 
small.  On  the  walls,  over  the  pews,  are  several  monu- 
mental sculptures, — a quite  elaborate  one  to  a Colonel 
Murray,  of  the  Coldstream  Guards  ; his  military  pro- 
fession being  designated  by  banners  and  swords  in 
marble.  Another  was  to  a farmer. 

On  one  side  of  the  church-tower  there  was  a little 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


509 


penthouse,  or  lean-to,  — merely  a stone  roof,  about 
three  or  four  feet  high,  and  supported  by  a single 
pillar,  — beneath  which  was  once  deposited  the  bier. 

I have  let  too  much  time  pass  before  attempting  to 
record  my  impressions  of  the  Isle  of  Man ; but,  as  re- 
gards this  church,  no  description  can  come  up  to  its 
quiet  beauty,  its  seclusion,  and  its  every  requisite  for 
an  English  country  church. 

Last  Sunday  I went  to  Eastham,  and,  entering  the 
churchyard,  sat  down  on  a tombstone  under  the  yew- 
tree  which  has  been  known  for  centuries  as  the  Great 
Tree  of  Eastham.  Some  of  the  village  people  were 
sitting  on  the  graves  near  the  door ; and  an  old  wo- 
man came  towards  me,  and  said,  in  a low,  kindly,  ad- 
monishing tone,  that  I must  not  let  the  sexton  see  me, 
because  he  would  not  allow  any  one  to  be  there  in 
sacrament-time.  I inquired  why  she  and  her  compan- 
ions were  there,  and  she  said  they  were  waiting  for 
the  sacrament.  So  I thanked  her,  gave  her  a six- 
pence, and  departed.  Close  under  the  eaves,  I saw 
two  upright  stones,  in  memory  of  two  old  servants  of 
the  Stanley  family,  — one  over  ninety,  and  the  other 
over  eighty  years  of  age. 

August  Vlth,  — J and  I went  to  Birkenhead 

Park  yesterday.  There  is  a large  ornamental  gate- 
way to  the  Park,  and  the  grounds  within  are  neatly 
laid  out,  with  borders  of  shrubbery.  There  is  a sheet 
of  water,  with  swans  and  other  aquatic  fowl,  which 
swim  about,  and  are  fed  with  dainties  by  the  visitors. 
Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  a swan.  It  is  the 
ideal  of  a goose,  — a goose  beautified  and  beatified. 
There  were  not  a great  many  visitors,  but  some  chil- 


510 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


dren  were  dancing  on  the  green,  and  a few  lover-like 
people  straying  about.  I think  the  English  behave 
better  than  the  Americans  at  similar  places. 

There  was  a earner a-ohscura.^  very  wretchedly  indis-= 
tinct.  At  the  refreshment-room  were  ginger-beer  and 
British  wines. 

August  21st,  — I was  in  the  Crown  Court  on  Satur- 
day, sitting  in  the  sheriff’s  seat.  The  judge  was  Baron 

, an  old  gentleman  of  sixty,  with  very  large,  long 

features.  His  wig  helped  him  to  look  like  some 
strange  kind  of  animal,  — very  queer,  but  yet  with  a 
sagacious,  and,  on  the  whole,  beneficent  aspect.  Dur- 
ing the  session  some  mischievous  young  barrister  oc- 
cupied himself  with  sketching  the  judge  in  pencil ; and, 
being  handed  about,  it  found  its  way  to  me.  It  was 
very  like  and  very  laughable,  but  hardly  caricatured. 
The  judicial  wig  is  an  exceedingly  odd  affair  ; and  as 
it  covers  both  ears,  it  would  seem  intended  to  prevent 
his  Lordship,  and  justice  in  his  person,  from  hearing 
any  of  the  case  on  either  side,  that  thereby  he  may 
decide  the  better.  It  is  like  the  old  idea  of  blindfold- 
ing the  statue  of  Justice. 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  less  formality,  less  distance 
between  the  judge,  jury,  witnesses,  and  bar,  in  the 
English  courts  than  in  our  own.  The  judge  takes  a 
very  active  part  in  the  trial,  constantly  asking  a ques- 
tion of  the  witness  on  the  stand,  making  remarks  on 
the  conduct  of  the  trial,  putting  in  his  word  on  all 
occasions,  and  allowing  his  own  sense  of  the  matter 
in  hand  to  be  pretty  plainly  seen ; so  that,  before  the 
trial  is  over,  and  long  before  his  own  charge  is  deliv- 
ered, he  must  have  exercised  a very  powerful  infiuence 
over  the  minds  of  the  jury.  All  this  is  done,  not  with- 


1854.] 


EATON  HALL, 


511 


out  dignity,  yet  in  a familiar  kind  of  way.  It  is  a 
sort  of  paternal  supervision  of  the  whole  matter,  quite 
unlike  the  cold  awfulness  of  an  American  judge.  But 
all  this  may  be  owing  partly  to  the  personal  charac- 
teristics of  Baron . It  appeared  to  me,  however, 

that,  from  the  closer  relations  of  all  parties,  truth  was 
likely  to  be  arrived  at  and  justice  to  be  done.  As  an 
innocent  man,  I should  not  be  afraid  to  be  tried  by 
Baron  . 


EATON  HALL. 

August  24ifA.  — I went  to  Eaton  Hall  yesterday  with 
my  wife  and  Mr.  G.  P.  Bradford,  via  Chester.  On 
our  way,  at  the  latter  place,  we  visited  St.  John’s 
Church.  It  is  built  of  the  same  red  freestone  as  the 
cathedral,  and  looked  exceedingly  antique,  and  vener- 
able ; this  kind  of  stone,  from  its  softness,  and  its  lia- 
bility to  be  acted  upon  by  the  weather,  being  liable  to 
an  early  decay.  Nevertheless,  I believe  the  church 
was  built  above  a thousand  years  ago,  — some  parts 
of  it,  at  least,  — and  the  surface  of  the  tower  and 
walls  is  worn  away  and  hollowed  in  shallow  sweeps  by 
the  hand  of  Time.  There  were  broken  niches  in  sev- 
eral places,  where  statues  had  formerly  stood.  All, 
except  two  or  three,  had  fallen  or  crumbled  away,  and 
those  which  remained  were  much  damaged.  The  face 
and  details  of  the  figure  were  almost  obliterated. 
There  were  many  gravestones  round  the  church,  but 
none  of  them  of  any  antiquity.  Probably,  as  the 
names  become  indistinguishable  on  the  older  stones, 
the  graves  are  dug  over  again,  and  filled  with  new 
occupants  and  covered  with  new  stones,  or  perhaps 
with  the  old  ones  newly  inscribed. 

Closely  connected  with  the  church  was  the  clergy* 


512 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


man’s  house,  a comfortable-looking  residence ; and 
likewise  in  the  churchyard,  with  tombstones  all  about 
it,  even  almost  at  the  threshold,  so  that  the  doorstep 
itself  might  have  been  a tombstone,  was  another  house, 
of  respectable  size  and  aspect.  We  surmised  that  this 
might  be  the  sexton’s  dwelling,  but  it  proved  not  to 
be  so  ; and  a woman,  answering  our  knock,  directed 
us  to  the  place  where  he  might  be  found.  So  Mr. 

Bradford  and  I went  in  search  of  him,  leaving  S 

seated  on  a tombstone.  The  sexton  was  a jolly-look- 
ing, ruddy-faced  man,  a mechanic  of  some  sort,  appar- 
ently, and  he  followed  us  to  the  churchyard  with  much 

alacrity.  We  found  S standing  at  a gateway, 

which  opened  into  the  most  ancient,  and  now  quite 
ruinous,  part  of  the  church,  the  present  edifice  cover- 
ing much  less  ground  than  it  did  some  centuries  ago. 
We  went  through  this  gateway,  and  found  ourselves 
in  an  enclosure  of  venerable  walls,  open  to  the  sky, 
with  old  Norman  arches  standing  about,  beneath  the 
loftiest  of  which  the  sexton  told  us  the  high  altar  used 
to  stand.  Of  course,  there  were  weeds  and  ivy  grow- 
ing in  the  crevices,  but  not  so  abundantly  as  I have 
seen  them  elsewhere.  The  sexton  pointed  out  a piece 
of  a statue  that  had  once  stood  in  one  of  the  niches, 
and  which  he  himself,  I think,  had  dug  up  from  sev- 
eral feet  below  the  earth ; also,  in  a niche  of  the  walls, 
high  above  our  heads,  he  showed  us  an  ancient  wooden 
coffin,  hewn  out  of  a solid  log  of  oak,  the  hollow  be- 
ing made  rudely  in  the  shape  of  a human  figure.  This 
too  had  been  dug  up,  and  nobody  knew  how  old  it 
was.  While  we  looked  at  all  this  solemn  old  trum- 
pery, the  curate,  quite  a young  man,  stood  at  the  back 
door  of  his  house,  elevated  considerably  above  the 
ruins,  with  his  young  wife  (I  presume)  and  a friend 


1854.] 


EATON  HALL, 


513 


or  two,  chatting  cheerfully  among  themselves.  It  was 
pleasant  to  see  them  there.  After  examining  the  ruins, 
we  went  inside  of  the  church,  and  found  it  a dim  and 
dusky  old  place,  quite  paved  over  with  tombstones, 
not  an  inch  of  space  being  left  in  the  aisles  or  near 
the  altar,  or  in  any  nook  or  corner,  uncovered  by  a 
tombstone.  There  were  also  mural  monuments  and 
escutcheons,  and  close  against  the  wall  lay  the  muti- 
lated statue  of  a Crusader,  with  his  legs  crossed,  in 
the  style  which  one  has  so  often  read  about.  The 
old  fellow  seemed  to  have  been  represented  in  chain 
armor ; but  he  had  been  more  battered  and  bruised 
since  death  than  even  during  his  pugnacious  life,  and 
his  nose  was  almost  knocked  away.  This  figure  had 
been  dug  up  many  years  ago,  and  nobody  knows  whom 
it  was  meant  to  commemorate. 

The  nave  of  the  church  is  supported  by  two  rows  of 
Saxon  pillars,  not  very  lofty,  but  six  feet  six  inches 
(so  the  sexton  says)  in  diameter.  They  are  covered 
with  plaster,  which  was  laid  on  ages  ago,  and  is  now 
so  hard  and  smooth  that  I took  the  pillars  to  be  really 
composed  of  solid  shafts  of  gray  stone.  But,  at  one 
end  of  the  church,  the  plaster  had  been  removed  from 
two  of  the  pillars,  in  order  to  discover  whether  they 
were  still  sound  enough  to  support  the  building ; and 
they  prove  to  be  made  of  blocks  of  red  freestone,  just 
as  sound  as  when  it  came  from  the  quarry  ; for  though 
this  stone  soon  crumbles  in  the  open  air,  it  is  as  good 
as  indestructible  when  sheltered  from  the  weather.  It 
looked  very  strange  to  see  the  fresh  hue  of  these  two 
pillars  amidst  the  dingy  antiquity  of  the  rest  of  the 
structure. 

The  body  of  the  church  is  covered  with  pews,  the 
wooden  enclosures  of  which  seemed  of  antique  fashion. 

VOL.  VII.  33 


514 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


There  were  also  modern  stoves  ; but  the  sexton  said 
it  was  very  cold  there  in  spite  of  the  stoves.  It  had,  I 
must  say,  a disagreeable  odor  pervading  it,  in  which 
the  dead  people  of  long  ago  had  doubtless  some  share, 
— a musty  odor,  by  no  means  amounting  to  a stench, 
but  unpleasant,  and,  I should  think,  unwholesome. 
Old  wood-work,  and  old  stones,  and  antiquity  of  all 
kinds,  moral  and  physical,  go  to  make  up  this  smell. 
I observed  it  in  the  cathedral,  and  Chester  generally 
has  it,  especially  under  the  Rows.  After  all,  the  nec- 
essary damp  and  lack  of  sunshine,  in  such  a shadowy 
old  church  as  this,  have  probably  more  to  do  with  it 
than  the  dead  people  have ; although  I did  think  the 
odor  was  particularly  strong  over  some  of  the  tomb- 
stones. Not  having  shillings  to  give  the  sexton,  we 
were  forced  to  give  him  half  a crown. 

The  Church  of  St.  J ohn  is  outside  of  the  city  walls. 
Entering  the  East  gate,  we  walked  awhile  under  the 
Rows,  bought  our  tickets  for  Eaton  Hall  and  its  gar- 
dens, and  likewise  some  playthings  for  the  children  ; 
for  this  old  city  of  Chester  seems  to  me  to  possess  an 
unusual  number  of  toy-shops.  Finally  we  took  a cab, 
and  drove  to  the  Hall,  about  four  miles  distant,  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  way  lying  through  the  wooded  Park. 
There  are  many  sorts  of  trees,  making  up  a wilderness, 
which  looked  not  unlike  the  woods  of  our  own  Con- 
cord, only  less  wild.  The  English  oak  is  not  a hand- 
some tree,  being  short  and  sturdy,  with  a round,  thick 
mass  of  foliage,  lying  all  within  its  own  bounds.  It 
was  a showery  day.  Had  there  been  any  sunshine, 
there  might  doubtless  have  been  many  beautiful  effects 
of  light  and  shadow  in  these  woods.  We  saw  one  or 
two  herds  of  deer,  quietly  feeding,  a hundred  yards  or 
so  distant.  They  appeared  to  be  somewhat  wilder 


EATON  HALL. 


615 


1854.] 


than  cattle,  but,  I think,  not  much  wilder  than  sheep. 
Their  ancestors  have  probably  been  in  a half-domes- 
ticated  state,  receiving  food  at  the  hands  of  man,  in 
winter,  for  centuries.  There  is  a kind  of  poetry  in 
this,  quite  as  much  as  if  they  were  really  wild  deer, 
such  as  their  forefathers  were,  when  Hugh  Lupus  used 
to  hunt  them. 

Our  miserable  cab  drew  up  at  the  steps  of  Eaton 
Hall,  and,  ascending  under  the  portico,  the  door  swung 
silently  open,  and  we  were  received  very  civilly  by  two 
old  men,  — one,  a tall  footman  in  livery  ; the  other,  of 
higher  grade,  in  plain  clothes.  The  entrance-hall  is 
very  spacious,  and  the  floor  is  tessellated  or  somehow 
inlaid  with  marble.  There  was  statuary  in  marble  on 
the  floor,  and  in  niches  stood  several  figures  in  antique 
armor,  of  various  dates ; some  with  lances,  and  others 
with  battle-axes  and  swords.  There  was  a two-handed 
sword,  as  much  as  six  feet  long  ; but  not  nearly  so  pon- 
derous as  I have  supposed  this  kind  of  weapon  to  be, 
from  reading  of  it.  I could  easily  have  brandished  it. 

I don’t  think  I am  a good  sight-seer ; at  least,  I 
soon  get  satisfied  with  looking  at  set  sights,  and  wish 
to  go  on  to  the  next. 

The  plainly  dressed  old  man  now  led  us  into  a long 
corridor,  which  goes,  I think,  the  whole  length  of  the 
house,  about  five  hundred  feet,  arched  all  the  way, 
and  lengthened  interminably  by  a looking-glass  at  the 
end,  in  which  I saw  our  own  party  approaching  like  a 
party  of  strangers.  But  I have  so  often  seen  this  effect 
produced  in  dry-goods  stores  and  elsewhere  that  I was 
not  much  impressed.  There  were  family  portraits  and 
other  pictures,  and  likewise  pieces  of  statuary,  along 
this  arched  corridor ; and  it  communicated  with  a 
chapel  with  a scriptural  altar-piece,  copied  from  Ru- 


516  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

bens,  and  a picture  of  St.  Michael  and  the  Dragon,  and 
two,  or  perhaps  three,  richly  painted  windows.  Every- 
thing here  is  entirely  new  and  fresh,  this  part  having 
been  repaired,  and  never  yet  inhabited  by  the  family. 
This  brand-newness  makes  it  much  less  effective  than 
if  it  had  been  lived  in ; and  I felt  pretty  much  as  if  I 
were  strolling  through  any  other  renewed  house.  Af- 
ter all,  the  utmost  force  of  man  can  do  positively  very 
little  towards  making  grand  things  or  beautiful  things. 
The  imagination  can  do  so  much  more,  merely  on  shut- 
ting one’s  eyes,  that  the  actual  effect  seems  meagre ; 
so  that  a new  house,  unassociated  with  the  past,  is  ex- 
ceedingly unsatisfactory,  especially  when  you  have 
heard  that  the  wealth  and  skill  of  man  has  here  done 
its  best.  Besides,  the  rooms,  as  we  saw  them,  did  not 
look  by  any  means  their  best,  the  carpets  not  being 
down,  and  the  furniture  being  covered  with  protective 
envelopes.  However,  rooms  cannot  be  seen  to  advan- 
tage by  daylight ; it  being  altogether  essential  to  the 
effect,  that  they  should  be  illuminated  by  artificial 
light,  which  takes  them  somewhat  out  of  the  region  of 
bare  reality.  Nevertheless,  there  was  undoubtedly 
great  splendor,  — for  the  details  of  which  I refer  to 
the  guide-book.  Among  the  family  portraits,  there 
was  one  of  a lady  famous  for  her  beautiful  hand  ; and 
she  was  holding  it  up  to  notice  in  the  funniest  way, 
— and  very  beautiful  it  certainly  was.  The  private 
apartments  of  the  family  were  not  shown  us.  I should 
think  it  impossible  for  the  owner  of  this  house  to  im= 
bue  it  with  his  personality  to  such  a degree  as  to  feel 
it  to  be  his  home.  It  must  be  like  a small  lobster  in 
a shell  much  too  large  for  him. 

After  seeing  what  was  to  be  seen  of  the  rooms,  we 
visited  the  gardens,  in  which  are  noble  conservatories 


1851.] 


EATON  HALE 


617 


and  hot-houses,  containing  all  manner  of  rare  and 
beautiful  flowers,  and  tropical  fruits.  I noticed  some 
large  pines,  looking  as  if  they  were  really  made  of 
gold.  The  gardener  (under-gardener  I suppose  he 
was)  who  showed  this  part  of  the  spectacle  was  very 
intelligent  as  well  as  kindly,  and  seemed  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  his  business.  He  gave  S a purple  ever- 

lasting flower,  which  will  endure  a great  many  years, 
as  a memento  of  our  visit  to  Eaton  Hall.  Finally,  we 
took  a view  of  the  front  of  the  edifice,  which  is  very 
fine,  and  much  more  satisfactory  than  the  interior,  — 
and  returned  to  Chester. 

We  strolled  about  under  the  unsavory  Rows,  some- 
times scudding  from  side  to  side  of  the  street,  through 
the  shower ; took  lunch  in  a confectioner’s  shop,  and 
drove  to  the  railway  station  in  time  for  the  three-o’clock 
train.  It  looked  picturesque  to  see  two  little  girls, 
hand  in  hand,  racing  along  the  ancient  passages  of 
the  Rows  ; but  Chester  has  a very  evil  smell. 

At  the  railroad  station,  S saw  a small  edition 

of  “ Twice-Told  Tales,”  forming  a volume  of  the  Cot- 
tage Library  ; and,  opening  it,  there  was  the  queerest 
imaginable  portrait  of  myself,  — so  very  queer  that  we 
could  not  but  buy  it.  The  shilling  edition  of  “ The 
Scarlet  Letter  ” and  “ Seven  Gables  ” are  at  all  the 
book-stalls  and  shop-windows ; but  so  is  The  Lamp- 
lighter,” and  still  more  trashy  books. 


August  26^A.  — All  past  affairs,  all  home  conclu- 
sions, all  people  whom  I have  known  in  America  and 
meet  again  here,  are  strangely  compelled  to  undergo  a 
new  trial.  It  is  not  that  they  suffer  by  comparison 
with  circumstances  of  English  life  and  forms  of  Eng- 


518  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

lish  manhood  or  womanhood;  but,  being  free  from  my 
old  surroundings,  and  the  inevitable  prejudices  of 
home,  I decide  upon  them  absolutely. 

I think  I neglected  to  record  that  I saw  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  a few  weeks  since.  She  is  a large,  robust,  el- 
derly woman,  and  plainly  dressed  ; but  withal  she  has 
so  kind,  cheerful,  and  intelligent  a face  that  she  is 
pleasanter  to  look  at  than  most  beauties.  Her  hair  is 
of  a decided  gray,  and  she  does  not  shrink  from  call- 
ing herself  old.  She  is  the  most  continual  talker  I 
ever  heard  ; it  is  really  like  the  babbling  of  a brook, 
and  very  lively  and  sensible  too ; and  all  the  while  she 
talks,  she  moves  the  bowl  of  her  ear-trumpet  from  one 
auditor  to  another,  so  that  it  becomes  quite  an  organ 
of  intelligence  and  sympathy  between  her  and  your- 
self. The  ear-trumpet  seems  a sensible  part  of  her, 
like  the  antennse  of  some  insects.  If  you  have  any  lit- 
tle remark  to  make,  you  drop  it  in ; and  she  helps  you 
to  make  remarks  by  this  delicate  little  appeal  of  the 
trumpet,  as  she  slightly  directs  it  towards  you  ; and  if 
you  have  nothing  to  say,  the  appeal  is  not  strong 
enough  to  embarrass  you.  All  her  talk  was  about 
herself  and  her  affairs  ; but  it  did  not  seem  like  ego- 
tism, because  it  was  so  cheerful  and  free  from  morbid- 
ness. And  this  woman  is  an  Atheist,  and  thinks  that 
the  principle  of  life  will  become  extinct  when  her  body 
is  laid  in  the  grave  ! I will  not  think  so,  were  it  only 
for  her  sake.  What ! only  a few  weeds  to  spring  out 
of  her  mortality,  instead  of  her  intellect  and  sympa- 
thies flowering  and  fruiting  forever ! 


September  IZtJi.  — My  family  went  to  Rhyl  last 
Thursday,  and  on  Saturday  I joined  them  there,  in 


1854.] 


RHYL. 


519 


company  with  O’Sullivan,  who  arrived  in  the  Behama 
from  Lisbon  that  morning.  We  went  by  way  of 

Chester,  and  found  S waiting  for  us  at  the  Rhyl 

station.  Rhyl  is  a most  uninteresting  place,  — a col- 
lection of  new  lodging-houses  and  hotels,  on  a long 
sand-beach,  which  the  tide  leaves  bare  almost  to  the 
horizon.  The  sand  is  by  no  means  a marble  pavement, 
but  sinks  under  the  foot,  and  makes  very  heavy  walk- 
ing ; but  there  is  a promenade  in  front  of  the  principal 
range  of  houses,  looking  on  the  sea,  whereon  we  have 
rather  better  footing.  Almost  all  the  houses  were  full, 

and  S had  taken  a parlor  and  two  bedrooms,  and 

is  living  after  the  English  fashion,  providing  her  own 
table,  lights,  fuel,  and  everything.  It  is  very  awkward 
to  our  American  notions ; but  there  is  an  independence 
about  it,  which  I think  must  make  it  agreeable  on  bet- 
ter acquaintance.  But  the  place  is  certainly  destitute 
of  attraction,  and  life  seems  to  pass  very  heavily. 
The  English  do  not  appear  to  have  a turn  for  amus- 
ing themselves. 

Sunday  was  a bright  and  hot  day,  and  in  the  fore- 
noon I set  out  on  a walk,  not  well  knowing  whither, 
over  a very  dusty  road,  with  not  a particle  of  shade 
along  its  dead  level.  The  Welsh  mountains  were  be- 
fore me,  at  the  distance  of  three  or  four  miles,  — long 
ridgy  hills,  descending  pretty  abruptly  upon  the  plain  ; 
on  either  side  of  the  road,  here  and  there,  an  old  white- 
washed, thatched  stone  cottage,  or  a stone  farm-house, 
with  an  aspect  of  some  antiquity.  I never  suffered  so 
much  before,  on  this  side  of  the  water,  from  heat  and 
dust,  and  should  probably  have  turned  back  had  I not 
espied  the  round  towers  and  walls  of  an  old  castle  at 
some  distance  before  me.  Having  looked  at  a guide- 
book, previously  to  setting  out,  I knew  that  this  must 


520 


ENGLISH  NOTE^BOOKS, 


[1854. 


be  Rhyddlan  Castle,  about  three  miles  from  Rhyl ; so 
I plodded  on,  and  by  and  by  entered  an  antiquated 
village,  on  one  side  of  which  the  castle  stood.  This 
Welsh  village  is  very  much  like  the  English  villages, 
with  narrow  streets  and  mean  houses  or  cottages,  built 
in  blocks,  and  here  and  there  a larger  house  standing 
alone  ; everything  far  more  compact  than  in  our  rural 
villages,  and  with  no  grassy  street- margin  nor  trees ; 
aged  and  dirty  also,  with  dirty  children  staring  at  the 
passenger,  and  an  undue  supply  of  mean  inns  ; most, 
or  many  of  the  men  in  breeches,  and  some  of  the 
women,  especially  the  elder  ones,  in  black  beaver  hats. 
The  streets  were  paved  with  round  pebbles,  and  looked 
squalid  and  ugly. 

The  children  and  grown  people  stared  lazily  at  me 
as  I passed,  but  showed  no  such  alert  and  vivacious 
curiosity  as  a community  of  Yankees  would  have  done. 
I turned  up  a street  that  led  me  to  the  castle,  which 
looked  very  picturesque  close  at  hand,  — more  so  than 
at  a distance,  because  the  towers  and  walls  have  not  a 
sufficiently  broken  outline  against  the  sky.  There  are 
several  round  towers  at  the  angles  of  the  wall  very 
large  in  their  circles,  built  of  gray  stone,  crumbling, 
ivy-grown,  everything  that  one  thinks  of  in  an  old  ruin. 
I could  not  get  into  the  inner  space  of  the  castle  with- 
out climbing  over  a fence,  or  clambering  down  into 
the  moat ; so  I contented  myself  with  walking  round 
it,  and  viewing  it  from  the  outside.  Through  the  gate- 
way I saw  a cow  feeding  on  the  green  grass  in  the 
inner  court  of  the  castle.  In  one  of  the  walls  there 
was  a large  triangular  gap,  where  perhaps  the  assail- 
ants had  made  a breach.  Of  course  there  were  weeds 
on  the  ruinous  top  of  the  towers,  and  along  the  sum- 
mit of  the  wall.  This  was  the  first  castle  built  by  Ed- 


1854.] 


RHYL. 


521 


ward  I.  in  Wales,  and  he  resided  here  during  the  erec- 
tion of  Conway  Castle,  and  here  Queen  Eleanor  gave 
birth  to  a princess.  Some  few  years  since  a meeting 
of  Welsh  bards  was  held  within  it. 

After  viewing  it  awhile,  and  listening  to  the  babble 
of  some  children  who  lay  on  the  grass  near  by,  I re- 
sumed my  walk,  and,  meeting  a Welshman  in  the  vil- 
lage street,  I asked  him  my  nearest  way  back  to  RhyL 
Dim  Sassenach,”  said  he,  after  a pause.  How  odd 
that  an  hour  or  two  on  the  railway  should  have 
brought  me  amongst  a people  who  speak  no  English ! 
Just  below  the  castle,  there  is  an  arched  stone  bridge 
over  the  river  Clwyd,  and  the  best  view  of  the  edifice 
is  from  hence.  It  stands  on  a gentle  eminence,  com- 
manding the  passage  of  the  river,  and  two  twin  round 
towers  rise  close  beside  one  another,  whence,  I sup- 
pose, archers  have  often  drawn  their  bows  against  the 
wild  Welshmen,  on  the  river-banks.  Behind  was  the 
line  of  mountains  ; and  this  was  the  point  of  defence 
between  the  hill  country  and  the  lowlands.  On  the 
bridge  stood  a good  many  idle  Welshmen,  leaning 
over  the  parapet,  and  looking  at  some  small  vessels 
that  had  come  up  the  river  from  the  sea.  There  was 
the  frame  of  a new  vessel  on  the  stocks  near  by. 

As  I returned,  on  my  way  home,  I again  inquired 
my  way  of  a man  in  breeches,  who,  I found,  could 
speak  English  very  well.  He  was  kind,  and  took  pains 
to  direct  me,  giving  me  the  choice  of  three  ways,  viz, 
the  one  by  which  I came,  another  across  the  fields, 
and  a third  by  the  embankment  along  the  river-side. 
I chose  the  latter,  and  so  followed  the  course  of  the 
Clwyd,  which  is  very  ugly,  with  a tidal  flow  and  wide 
marshy  banks.  On  its  farther  side  was  Rhyddlan 
marsh,  where  a battle  was  fought  between  the  Welsh 


522  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

and  Saxons  a thousand  years  ago.  I have  forgotten 
to  mention  that  the  castle  and  its  vicinity  was  the 
scene  of  the  famous  battle  of  the  fiddlers,  between  De 
Blandeville,  Earl  of  Chester,  and  the  Welsh,  about  the 
time  of  the  Conqueror. 

CONWAY  CASTLE. 

Septemher  IZth.  — On  Monday  we  went  with 
O’Sullivan  to  Conway  by  rail.  Certainly  this  must 
be  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  a ruinous  old  castle 
in  the  whole  world  ; it  quite  fills  up  one’s  idea.  We 
first  walked  round  the  exterior  of  the  wall,  at  the  base 
of  which  are  hovels,  with  dirty  children  playing  about 
them,  and  pigs  rambling  along,  and  squalid  women 
visible  in  the  doorways  ; but  all  these  things  melt  into 
the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  and  do  not  harm  it. 
The  whole  town  of  Conway  is  built  in  what  was  once 
the  castle-yard,  and  the  whole  circuit  of  the  wall  is 
still  standing  in  a delightful  state  of  decay.  At  the 
angles,  and  at  regular  intervals,  there  are  round  tow- 
ers, having  half  their  circle  on  the  outside  of  the  walls 
and  half  within.  Most  of  these  towers  have  a great 
crack  pervading  them  irregularly  from  top  to  bottom ; 
the  ivy  hangs  upon  them,  — the  weeds  grow  on  the 
tops.  Gateways,  three  or  four  of  them,  open  through 
the  walls,  and  streets  proceed  from  them  into  the 
town.  At  some  points,  very  old  cottages  or  small 
houses  are  close  against  the  sides,  and,  old  as  they  are, 
they  must  have  been  built  after  the  whole  structure 
was  a ruin.  In  one  place  I saw  the  sign  of  an  ale- 
house painted  on  the  gray  stones  of  one  of  the  old 
round  towers.  As  we  entered  one  of  the  gates,  after 
making  the  entire  circuit,  we  saw  an  omnibus  coming 
down  the  street  towards  us,  with  its  horn  sounding. 


1854.] 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


623 


Llandudno  was  its  place  of  destination  ; and,  knowing 
no  more  about  it  than  that  it  was  four  miles  off,  we 
took  our  seats.  Llandudno  is  a watering-village  at  the 
base  of  the  Great  Orme’s  Head,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Conway  River.  In  this  omnibus  there  were  two  pleas- 
ant - looking  girls,  who  talked  W elsh  together,  — a 
guttural,  childish  kind  of  a babble.  Afterwards  we 
got  into  conversation  with  them,  and  found  them  very 
agreeable.  One  of  them  was  -reading  Tupper’s  Pro- 
verbial Philosophy.”  On  reaching  Llandudno,  S 

waited  at  the  hotel,  while  O’Sullivan,  U , and  I 

ascended  the  Great  Orme’s  Head.  There  are  copper- 
mines  here,  and  we  heard  of  a large  cave,  with  stalac- 
tites, but  did  not  go  so  far  as  that.  We  found  the  old 
shaft  of  a mine,  however,  and  threw  stones  down  it, 
and  counted  twenty  before  we  heard  them  strike  the 
bottom.  At  the  base  of  the  Head,  on  the  side  oppo- 
site the  village,  we  saw  a small  -church  with  a broken 
roof,  and  horizontal  gravestones  of  slate  within  the 
stone  enclosure  around  it.  The  view  from  the  hill 
was  most  beautiful,  — a blue  summer  sea,  with  the 
distant  trail  of  smoke  from  a steamer,  and  many 
snowy  sails  ; in  another  direction  the  mountains,  near 
and  distant,  some  of  them  with  clouds  below  their 
peaks. 

We  went  to  one  of  the  mines  which  are  still  worked, 
and  boys  came  running  to  meet  us  with  specimens  of 
the  copper  ore  for  sale.  The  miners  were  not  now 
hoisting  ore  from  the  shaft,  but  were  washing  and 
selecting  the  valuable  fragments  from  great  heaps  of 
crumbled  stone  and  earth.  All  about  this  spot  there 
are  shafts  and  well-holes,  looking  fearfully  deep  and 
black,  and  without  the  slightest  protection,  so  that  we 
might  just  as  easily  have  walked  into  them  as  not. 


524  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

Having  examined  these  matters  sufficiently,  we  de- 
scended the  hill  towards  the  village,  meeting  parties  of 
visitors,  mounted  on  donkeys,  which  is  a much  more 
sensible  way  of  ascending  in  a hot  day  than  to  walk. 
On  the  sides  and  summit  of  the  hill  we  found  yellow 
gorse,  — heath  of  two  colors,  I think,  and  very  beauti- 
ful, — and  here  and  there  a harebell.  Owing  to  the 
long-continued  dry  weather,  the  grass  was  getting  with- 
ered and  brown,  though  not  so  much  so  as  on  Amer- 
ican hill-pastures  at  this  season.  Eeturning  to  the 
village,  we  all  went  into  a confectioner’s  shop,  and 
made  a good  luncheon.  The  two  prettiest  young  ladies 
whom  I have  seen  in  England  came  into  the  shop  and 
ate  cakes  while  we  were  there.  They  appeared  to  be 
living  together  in  a lodging-house,  and  ordered  some 
of  their  housekeeping  articles  from  the  confectioner. 
Next  we  went  into  the  village  bazaar,  — a sort  of  tent 
or  open  shop,  full  of  knick-knacks  and  gewgaws,  and 
bought  some  playthings  for  the  children.  At  half 
past  one  we  took  our  seats  in  the  omnibus,  to  return 
to  Conway. 

We  had  as  yet  only  seen  the  castle  wall  and  the 
exterior  of  the  castle  ; now  we  were  to  see  the  inside. 
Right  at  the  foot  of  it  an  old  woman  has  her  stand  for 
the  sale  of  lithographic  views  of  Conway  and  other 
places  ; but  these  views  are  ridiculously  inadequate, 
so  that  we  did  not  buy  any  of  them.  The  admittance 
into  the  castle  is  by  a wooden  door  of  modern  con- 
struction, and  the  present  seneschal  is,  I believe,  the 
sexton  of  a church.  He  remembered  me  as  having 
been  there  a month  or  two  ago ; and  probably,  con- 
sidering that  I was  already  initiated,  or  else  because 
he  had  many  other  visitors,  he  left  us  to  wander  about 
the  castle  at  will.  It  is  altogether  impossible  to  de- 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


525 


1854.] 


scribe  Conway  Castle.  Nothing  ever  can  have  been 
so  perfect  in  its  own  style,  and  for  its  own  purposes, 
when  it  was  first  built ; and  now  nothing  else  can  be 
so  perfect  as  a picture  of  ivy-grown,  peaceful  ruin,. 
The  banqueting-hall,  all  ojien  to  the  sky,  and  with 
thick  curtains  of  ivy  tapestrying  the  walls,  and  grass 
and  weeds  growing  on  the  arches  that  overpass  it,  is 
indescribably  beautiful.  The  hearthstones  of  the  great 
old  fireplaces,  all  about  the  castle,  seem  to  be  favorite 
spots  for  weeds  to  grow.  There  are  eight  large  round 
towers,  and  out  of  four  of  them,  I think,  rise  smaller 
towers,  ascending  to  a much  greater  height,  and  once 
containing  winding  staircases,  all  of  which  are  now 
broken,  and  inaccessible  from  below,  though,  in  at 
least  one  of  the  towers,  the  stairs  seemed  perfect,  high 
aloft.  It  must  have  been  the  rudest  violence  that 
broke  down  these  stairs ; for  each  step  was  a thick 
and  heavy  slab  of  stone,  built  into  the  wall  of  the 
tower.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a roof  in  any  part ; 
towers,  hall,  kitchen,  all  are  open  to  the  sky.  One 
round  tower,  directly  overhanging  the  railway,  is  so 
shattered  by  the  falling  away  of  the  lower  part,  that 
you  can  look  quite  up  into  it  and  through  it,  while 
sitting  in  the  cars  ; and  yet  it  has  stood  thus,  without 
falling  into  complete  ruin,  for  more  than  two  hundred 
years.  I think  that  it  was  in  this  tower  that  we  found 
the  castle  oven,  an  immense  cavern,  big  enough  to  bake 
bread  for  an  army.  The  railway  passes  exactly  at  the 
base  of  the  high  rock,  on  which  this  part  of  the  castle 
is  situated,  and  goes  into  the  town  through  a great 
arch  that  has  been  opened  in  the  castle  wall.  The 
tubular  bridge  across  the  Conway  has  been  built  in  a 
style  that  accords  with  the  old  architecture,  and  I ob“ 
served  that  one  little  sprig  of  ivy  had  rooted  itseK  in 
the  new  structure. 


526 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOORS. 


[1854. 


There  are  numberless  intricate  passages  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  castle  walls,  forming  communications  be- 
tween tower  and  tower,  — damp,  chill  passages,  with 
rough  stone  on  either  hand,  darksome,  and  very  likely 
leading  to  dark  pitfalls.  The  thickness  of  the  walls 
is  amazing ; and  the  people  of  those  days  must  have 
been  content  with  very  scanty  light,  so  small  were  the 
apertures,  — sometimes  merely  slits  and  loopholes, 
glimmering  through  many  feet  of  thickness  of  stone. 
One  of  the  towers  was  said  to  have  been  the  residence 
of  Queen  Eleanor ; and  this  was  better  lighted  than 
the  others,  containing  an  oriel-window,  looking  out  of 
a little  oratory,  as  it  seemed  to  be,  with  groined  arches 
and  traces  of  ornamental  sculpture,  so  that  we  could 
dress  up  some  imperfect  image  of  a queenly  chamber, 
though  the  tower  was  roofless  and  floorless.  There 
was  another  pleasant  little  windowed  nook,  close  be- 
side the  oratory,  where  the  Queen  might  have  sat  sew- 
ing or  looking  down  the  river  Conway  at  the  pictur- 
esque headlands  towards  the  sea.  We  imagined  her 
stately  figure  in  antique  robes,  standing  beneath  the 
groined  arches  of  the  oratory.  There  seem  to  have 
been  three  chambers,  one  above  another,  in  these  tow- 
ers, and  the  one  in  which  was  the  embowed  window 
was  the  middle  one.  I suppose  the  diameter  of  each 
of  these  circular  rooms  could  not  have  been  more  than 
twenty  feet  on  the  inside.  All  traces  of  wood-work 
and  iron-work  are  quite  gone  from  the  whole  castle. 
These  are  said  to  have  been  taken  away  by  a Lord 
Conway  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  There  is  a grassy 
space  under  the  windows  of  Queen  Eleanor’s  tower,  — 
a sort  of  outwork  of  the  castle,  where  probably,  when 
no  enemy  was  near,  the  Queen  used  to  take  the  open 
air  in  summer  afternoons  like  this.  Here  we  sat  down 


1854.] 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


527 


on  the  grass  of  the  ruined  wall,  and  agreed  that  noth- 
ing in  the  world  could  be  so  beautiful  and  picturesque 
as  Conway  Castle,  and  that  never  could  there  have 
been  so  fit  a time  to  see  it  as  this  sunny,  quiet,  lovely 
afternoon.  Sunshine  adapts  itself  to  the  character  of 
a ruin  in  a wonderful  way ; it  does  not  “ flout  the 
ruins  gray,”  as  Scott  says,  but  sympathizes  with  their 
decay,  and  saddens  itself  for  their  sake.  It  beautifies 
the  ivy  too. 

We  saw,  at  the  corner  of  this  grass-plot  around 
Queen  Eleanor’s  tower,  a real  trunk  of  a tree  of  ivy, 
with  so  stalwart  a stem,  and  such  a vigorous  grasp  of 
its  strong  branches,  that  it  would  be  a very  efficient 
support  to  the  wall,  were  it  otherwise  inclined  to  fall. 
Oh  that  we  could  have  ivy  in  America ! What  is  there 
to  beautify  us  when  our  time  of  ruin  comes  ? 

Before  departing,  we  made  the  entire  circuit  of  the 
castle  on  its  walls,  and  O'Sullivan  and  I climbed  by  a 
ladder  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers.  While  there, 
we  looked  down  into  the  street  beneath,  and  saw  a 
photographist  preparing  to  take  a view  of  the  castle, 
and  calling  out  to  some  little  girl  in  some  niche  or  on 
some  pinnacle  of  the  walls  to  stand  still  that  he  might 
catch  her  figure  and  face.  I think  it  added  to  the 
impressiveness  of  the  old  castle,  to  see  the  streets  and 
the  kitchen-gardens  and  the  homely  dwellings  that 
had  grown  up  within  the  precincts  of  this  feudal  for- 
tress, and  the  people  of  to-day  follovdng  their  little 
businesses  about  it.  This  does  not  destroy  the  charm ; 
but  tourists  and  idle  visitors  do  impair  it.  The  ear- 
nest life  of  to-day,  however,  petty  and  homely  as  it 
may  be,  has  a right  to  its  place  alongside  of  what  is 
left  of  the  life  of  other  days  ; and  if  it  be  vulgar  it- 
self, it  does  not  vulgarize  the  scene.  But  tourists  do 
vulgarize  it ; and  I suppose  we  did  so,  just  like  others. 


528  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

We  took  the  train  back  to  Rhyl,  where  we  arrived 
at  about  four  o’clock,  and,  having  dined,  we  again 
took  the  rail  for  Chester,  and  thence  to  Eock  Park 
(that  is,  O’Sullivan  and  I),  and  reached  home  at 
about  eleven  o’clock. 

Yesterday,  September  13th,  I began  to  wear  a watch 
from  Bennet’s,  65  Cheapside,  London.  W.  C.  Bennet 
warrants  it  as  the  best  watch  which  they  can  produce. 
If  it  prove  as  good  and  as  durable  as  he  prophesies, 

J will  find  it  a perfect  time-keeper  long  after  his 

father  has  done  with  Time.  If  I had  not  thought  of 
his  wearing  it  hereafter,  I should  have  been  content 
with  a much  inferior  one.  No.  39,620. 

September  — I went  back  to  Rhyl  last  Friday 
in  the  steamer.  We  arrived  at  the  landing-place  at 
nearly  four  o’clock,  having  started  at  twelve,  and  I 
walked  thence  to  our  lodgings,  18  West  Parade.  The 
children  and  their  mother  were  all  gone  out,  and  I sat 
some  time  in  our  parlor  before  anybody  came.  The 
next  morning  I made  an  excursion  in  the  omnibus  as 
far  as  Ruthin,  passing  through  Rhyddlan,  St.  Asaph, 
Denbigh,  and  reaching  Ruthin  at  one  o’clock.  All 
these  are  very  ancient  places.  St.  Asaph  has  a cathe- 
dral which  is  not  quite  worthy  of  that  name,  but  is  a 
very  large  and  stately  church  in  excellent  repair.  Its 
square  battlemented  tower  has  a very  fine  appearance, 
crowning  the  clump  of  village  houses  on  the  hill-top, 
as  you  approach  from  Rhyddlan.  The  ascent  of  the 
hill  is  very  steep ; so  it  is  at  Denbigh  and  at  Ruthin, 
— the  steepest  streets,  indeed,  that  I ever  climbed. 
Denbigh  is  a place  of  still  more  antique  aspect  than 
Sto  Asaph ; it  looks,  I think,  even  older  than  Chester, 


1854.] 


RUTHIN. 


529 


with  its  gabled  houses,  many  of  their  windows  open- 
ing on  hinges,  and  their  fronts  resting  on  pillars,  with 
an  open  porch  beneath.  The  castle  makes  an  admira- 
bly ruinous  figure  on  the  hill,  higher  than  the  village. 
I had  come  hither  with  the  purpose  of  inspecting  it, 
but  as  it  began  to  rain  just  then,  I concluded  to  get 
into  the  omnibus  and  go  to  Ruthin.  There  was  an- 
other steep  ascent  from  the  commencement  of  the  long 
street  of  Ruthin,  till  I reached  the  market-place,  which 
is  of  nearly  triangular  shape,  and  an  exceedingly  old- 
looking  place.  Houses  of  stone  or  plastered  brick ; 
one  or  two  with  timber  frames ; the  roofs  of  an  uneven 
line,  and  bulging  out  or  sinking  in  ; the  slates  moss- 
grown.  Some  of  them  have  two  peaks  and  even  three 
in  a row,  fronting  on  the  streets,  and  there  is  a stone 
market -house  with  a table  of  regulations.  In  this 
market-place  there  is  said  to  be  a stone  on  which 
King  Arthur  beheaded  one  of  his  enemies ; but  this  I 
did  not  see.  All  these  villages  were  very  lively,  as 
the  omnibus  drove  in ; and  I rather  imagine  it  was 
market-day  in  each  of  them,  — there  being  quite  a 
bustle  of  Welsh  people.  The  old  women  came  round 
the  omnibus  courtesying  and  intimating  their  willing- 
ness to  receive  alms,  — witch-like  women,  such  as  one 
sees  in  pictures  or  reads  of  in  romances,  and  very  un- 
like anything  feminine  in  America.  Their  style  of 
dress  cannot  have  changed  for  centuries.  It  was  quite 
unexpected  to  me  to  hear  Welsh  so  universally  and 
familiarly  spoken.  Everybody  spoke  it.  The  omni- 
bus-driver could  speak  but  imperfect  English ; there 
was  a jabber  of  Welsh  all  through  the  streets  and 
market-places ; and  it  flowed  out  with  a freedom  quite 
different  from  the  way  in  which  they  expressed  them- 
selves in  English.  I had  had  an  idea  that  W elsh  was 

VOL.  VII.  34 


530 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


spoken  rather  as  a freak  and  in  fun  than  as  a native 
language  ; it  was  so  strange  to  find  another  language 
the  people’s  actual  and  earnest  medium  of  thought 
within  so  short  a distance  of  England.  But  English 
is  scarcely  more  known  to  the  body  of  the  Welsh 
people  than  to  the  peasantry  of  France.  Moreover, 
they  sometimes  pretend  to  ignorance,  when  they  might 
speak  it  fairly  enough. 

I took  luncheon  at  the  hotel  where  the  omnibus 
stopped,  and  then  went  to  search  out  the  castle.  It 
appears  to  have  been  once  extensive,  but  the  remains 
of  it  are  now  very  few,  except  a part  of  the  external 
wall.  Whatever  other  portion  may  still  exist,  has 
been  built  into  a modern  castellated  mansion,  which 
has  risen  within  the  wide  circuit  of  the  fortress,  — a 
handsome  and  spacious  edifice  of  red  freestone,  with 
a high  tower,  on  which  a flag  was  flying.  The  grounds 
were  well  laid  out  in  walks,  and  really  I think  the 
site  of  the  castle  could  not  have  been  turned  to  better 
account.  I am  getting  tired  of  antiquity.  It  is  cer- 
tainly less  interesting  in  the  long  run  than  novelty ; 
and  so  I was  well  content  with  the  fresh,  warm,  red 
hue  of  the  modern  house,  and  the  unworn  outline  of 
its  walls,  and  its  cheerful,  large  windows;  and  was 
willing  that  the  old  ivy-grown  ruins  should  exist  now 
only  to  contrast  with  the  modernisms.  These  ancient 
walls,  by  the  by,  are  of  immense  thickness.  There 
is  a passage  through  the  interior  of  a portion  of  them, 
the  width  from  this  interior  passage  to  the  outer  one 
being  fifteen  feet  on  one  side,  and  I know  not  how 
much  on  the  other. 

It  continued  showery  all  day ; and  the  omnibus  was 
crowded.  I had  chosen  the  outside  from  Rhyl  to  Den- 
bigh, but,  all  the  rest  of  the  journey,  imprisoned  my- 


RHYDDLAN. 


531 


1854.] 

self  within.  On  our  way  home,  an  old  lady  got  into 
the  omnibus,  — a lady  of  tremendous  rotundity  ; and 
as  she  tumbled  from  the  door  to  the  farthest  part  of 
the  carriage,  she  kept  advising  all  the  rest  of  the  pas- 
sengers to  get  out.  I don’t  think  there  will  be  much 
rain,  gentlemen,”  quoth  she  ; you  ’ll  be  much  more 
comfortable  on  the  outside.”  As  none  of  us  complied, 
she  glanced  along  the  seats.  What ! are  you  all 
Saas’nach?”  she  inquired.  As  we  drove  along,  she 
talked  W elsh  with  great  fluency  to  one  of  the  passen- 
gers, a young  woman  with  a baby,  and  to  as  many 
others  as  could  understand  her.  It  has  a strange,  wild 
sound,  like  a language  half  blown  away  by  the  wind. 
The  lady’s  English  was  very  good ; but  she  probably 
prided  herself  on  her  proficiency  in  Welsh.  My  ex- 
cursion to-day  had  been  along  the  valley  of  the  Clwyd, 
a very  rich  and  fertile  tract  of  country. 

The  next  day  we  all  took  a long  walk  on  the  beach, 
picking  up  shells. 

On  Monday  we  took  an  open  carriage  and  drove  to 
Rhyddlan  ; whence  we  sent  back  the  carriage,  mean- 
ing to  walk  home  along  the  embankment  of  the  river 
Clwyd,  after  inspecting  the  castle.  The  fortress  is 
very  ruinous,  having  been  dismantled  by  the  Parlia- 
mentarians. There  are  great  gaps,  — two,  at  least, 
in  the  walls  that  connect  the  round  towers,  of  which 
there  were  six,  one  on  each  side  of  a gateway  in 
front,  and  the  same  at  a gateway  towards  the  river, 
where  there  is  a steep  descent  to  a wall  and  square 
tower,  at  the  water -side.  Great  pains  and  a great 
deal  of  gunpowder  must  have  been  used  in  converting 
this  castle  into  a ruin.  There  were  one  or  two  frag- 
ments lying  where  they  had  fallen  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  which,  though  merely  a conglomerar 


532 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


tion  of  small  stones  and  mortar,  were  just  as  hard  as 
if  they  had  been  solid  masses  of  granite.  The  sub- 
stantial thickness  of  the  walls  is  composed  of  these 
agglomerated  small  stones  and  mortar,  the  casing  be- 
ing hewn  blocks  of  red  freestone.  This  is  much  worn 
away  by  the  weather,  wherever  it  has  been  exposed  to 
the  air ; but,  under  shelter,  it  looks  as  if  it  might  have 
been  hewn  only  a year  or  two  ago.  Each  of  the  round 
towers  had  formerly  a small  staircase  turret  rising 
beside  and  ascending  above  it,  in  which  a warder 
might  be  posted,  but  they  have  all  been  so  battered 
and  shattered  that  it  is  impossible  for  an  uninstructed 
observer  to  make  out  a satisfactory  plan  of  them.  The 
interior  of  each  tower  was  a small  room,  not  more 
than  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  across  ; and  of  these  there 
seem  to  have  been  three  stories,  with  loop-holes  for 
archery,  and  not  much  other  light  than  what  came 
through  themo  Then  there  are  various  passages  and 
nooks  and  corners  and  square  recesses  in  the  stone, 
some  of  which  must  have  been  intended  for  dungeons, 
and  the  ugliest  and  gloomiest  dungeons  imaginable, 
for  they  could  not  have  had  any  light  or  air.  There 
is  not  the  least  splinter  of  wood-work  remaining  in 
any  part  of  the  castle,  — nothing  but  bare  stone,  and 
a little  plaster,  in  one  or  two  places,  on  the  wall.  In 
the  front  gateway  we  looked  at  the  groove  on  each 
side,  in  which  the  portcullis  used  to  rise  and  fall ; and 
in  each  of  the  contiguous  round  towers  there  was  a 
loop-hole,  whence  an  enemy  on  the  outer  side  of  the 
portcullis  might  be  shot  through  with  an  arrow. 

The  inner  court-yard  is  a parallelogram,  nearly  a 
square,  and  is  about  forty-five  of  my  paces  across.  It 
is  entirely  grass-grown,  and  vacant,  except  for  two  or 
three  trees  that  have  been  recently  set  out,  and  which 


RHYDDLAN. 


533 


1854.] 


are  surrounded  with  palings  to  keep  away  the  cows 
that  pasture  in  and  about  the  place.  No  window 
looks  from  the  walls  or  towers  into  this  court-yard  ; 
nor  are  there  any  traces  of  buildings  having  stood 
within  the  enclosure,  unless  it  be  what  looks  some- 
thing like  the  flue  of  a chimney  within  one  of  the 
walls.  I should  suppose,  however,  that  there  must 
have  been,  when  the  castle  was  in  its  perfect  state,  a 
hall,  a kitchen,  and  other  commodious  apartments  and 
offices  for  the  King  and  his  train,  such  as  there  were 
at  Conway  and  Beaumaris.  But  if  so,  all  fragments 
have  been  carried  away,  and  all  hollows  of  the  old 
foundations  scrupulously  filled  up.  The  round  tow- 
ers could  not  have  comprised  all  the  accommodation 
of  the  castle.  There  is  nothing  more  striking  in  these 
ruins  than  to  look  upward  from  the  crumbling  base, 
and  see  flights  of  stairs,  still  comparatively  perfect,  by 
which  you  might  securely  ascend  to  the  upper  heights 
of  the  tower,  although  all  traces  of  a staircase  have 
disappeared  below,  and  the  upper  portion  cannot  be 
attained.  On  three  sides  of  the  fortress  is  a moat, 
about  sixty  feet  wide,  and  cased  with  stone.  It  was 
probably  of  great  depth  in  its  day,  but  it  is  now  partly 
filled  up  with  earth,  and  is  quite  dry  and  grassy 
throughout  its  whole  extent.  On  the  inner  side  of  the 
moat  was  the  outer  wall  of  the  castle,  portions  of 
which  still  remain.  Between  the  outer  wall  and  the 
castle  itself  the  space  is  also  about  sixty  feet. 

The  day  was  cloudy  and  lov/ering,  and  there  were 
several  little  spatterings  of  rain,  while  we  rambled 
about.  The  two  children  ran  shouting  hither  and 
thither,  and  were  continually  clambering  into  danger- 
ous places,  racing  along  ledges  of  broken  wall.  At 
last  they  altogether  disappeared  for  a good  while; 


534 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


their  voices,  which  had  heretofore  been  plainly  audi- 
ble, were  hushed,  nor  was  there  any  answer  when  we 
began  to  call  them,  while  making  ready  for  our  de- 
parture. But  they  finally  appeared,  coming  out  of  the 
moat,  where  they  had  been  picking  and  eating  black- 
berries,— which,  they  said,  grew  very  plentifully  there, 
and  which  they  were  very  reluctant  to  leave.  Before 
quitting  the  castle,  I must  not  forget  the  ivy,  which 
makes  a perfect  tapestry  over  a large  portion  of  the 
walls. 

We  walked  about  the  village,  which  is  old  and  ugly; 
small,  irregular  streets,  contriving  to  be  intricate, 
though  there  are  few  of  them ; mean  houses,  joining 
to  each  other.  We  saw,  in  the  principal  one,  the  par* 
liament  house  in  which  Edward  I.  gave  a Charter,  or 
allowed  rights  of  some  kind  to  his  Welsh  subjects. 
The  ancient  part  of  its  wall  is  entirely  distinguishable 
from  what  has  since  been  built  upon  it. 

Thence  we  set  out  to  walk  along  the  embankment, 
although  the  sky  looked  very  threatening.  The  wind, 
however,  was  so  strong,  and  had  such  a full  sweep  at 
us,  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  that  we  decided  on  taking 
a path  that  led  from  it  across  the  moor.  But  we  soon 
had  cause  to  repent  of  this ; for,  which  way  soever  we 
turned,  we  found  ourselves  cut  off  by  a ditch  or  a 
little  stream ; so  that  here  we  were  fairly  astray  on 
Ehyddlan  moor,  the  old  battle-field  of  the  Saxons  and 
Britons,  and  across  which,  I suppose,  the  fiddlers  and 
mountebanks  had  marched  to  the  relief  of  the  Earl  of 
Chester.  Anon,  too,  it  began  to  shower ; and  it  was 
only  after  various  leaps  and  scramblings  that  we  made 
our  way  to  a large  farm-house,  and  took  shelter  under 
a cart -shed.  The  back  of  the  house  to  which  we 
gained  access  was  very  dirty  and  ill-kept ; some  dirty 


RHYDDLAN. 


635 


1854.] 


ehildren  peeped  at  us  as  we  approached,  and  nobody 
had  the  civility  to  ask  us  in ; so  we  took  advantage  of 
the  first  cessation  of  the  shower  to  resume  our  way. 
We  were  shortly  overtaken  by  a very  intelligent-look* 
ing  and  civil  man,  who  seemed  to  have  come  from 
Rhyddlan,  and  said  he  was  going  to  Rhyl.  We  fol- 
lowed his  guidance  over  stiles  and  along  hedge-row 
paths  which  we  never  could  have  threaded  rightly  by 
ourselves. 

By  and  by  our  kind  guide  had  to  stop  at  an  inter- 
mediate farm;  but  he  gave  us  full  directions  how  to 
proceed,  and  we  went  on  till  it  began  to  shower  again 
pretty  briskly,  and  we  took  refuge  in  a little  bit  of  old 
stone  cottage,  which,  small  as  it  was,  had  a greater  an- 
tiquity than  any  mansion  in  America.  The  door  was 
open,  and  as  we  approached,  we  saw  several  children 
gazing  at  us;  and  their  mother,  a pleasant-looking 
woman,  who  seemed  rather  astounded  at  the  visit  that 
was  about  to  befall  her,  tried  to  draw  a tattered  cur. 
tain  over  a part  of  her  interior,  which  she  fancied  even 
less  fit  to  be  seen  fhan  the  rest.  To  say  the  truth,  the 
house  was  not  at  all  better  than  a pigsty  ; and  while 
we  sat  there,  a pig  came  familiarly  to  the  door,  thrust 
in  his  snout,  and  seemed  surprised  that  he  should  be 
driven  away,  instead  of  being  admitted  as  one  of  the 
family.  The  floor  was  of  brick ; there  was  no  ceiling, 
but  only  the  peaked  gable  overhead.  The  room  was 
kitchen,  parlor,  and,  I suppose,  bedroom  for  the  whole 
family ; at  all  events,  there  was  only  the  tattered  cur- 
tain between  us  and  the  sleeping  accommodationso 
The  good  woman  either  could  not  or  would  not  speak 
a word  of  English,  only  laughing  when  S said. 

Dim  Sassenach  ? ” but  she  was  kind*  and  hospitable, 
and  found  a chair  for  each  of  us.  She  had  been  mak- 


586  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1854, 

ing  some  bread,  and  the  dough  was  on  the  dresser. 
Life  with  these  people  is  reduced  to  its  simplest  ele- 
ments. It  is  only  a pity  that  they  cannot  or  do  not 
choose  to  keep  themselves  cleaner.  Poverty,  except 
in  cities,  need  not  be  squalid.  When  the  shower 
abated  a little,  we  gave  all  the  pennies  we  had  to  the 
children,  and  set  forth  again.  By  the  by,  there  were 
several  colored  prints  stuck  up  against  the  walls,  and 
there  was  a clock  ticking  in  a corner,  and  some  paper- 
hangings  pinned  upon  the  slanting  roof. 

It  began  to  rain  again  before  we  arrived  at  Rhyl, 
and  we  were  driven  into  a small  tavern.  After  stay- 
ing there  awhile,  we  set  forth  between  the  drops ; 
but  the  rain  fell  still  heavier,  so  that  we  were  pretty 
well  damped  before  we  got  to  our  lodgings.  After 
dinner,  I took  the  rail  for  Chester  and  Rock  Park, 

and  S and  the  children  and  maid  followed  the 

next  day. 

September  22c?.  — I dined  on  Wednesday  evening 
at  Mr.  John  Hey  wood’s,  Norris  Green.  Mr.  Monck- 
ton  Milnes  and  lady  were  of  the  company.  Mr. 
Milnes  is  a very  agreeable,  kindly  man,  resembling 
Longfellow  a good  deal  in  personal  appearance ; and 
he  promotes,  by  his  genial  manners,  the  same  pleasant 
intercourse  which  is  so  easily  established  with  Long- 
fellow. He  is  said  to  be  a very  kind  patron  of  lit- 
erary men,  and  to  do  a great  deal  of  good  among 
young  and  neglected  people  of  that  class.  He  is  con- 
sidered one  of  the  best  conversationists  at  present  in 
society  s it  may  very  well  be  so ; his  style  of  talking 
being  very  simple  and  natural,  anything  but  obtru- 
sive, so  that  you  might  enjoy  its  agreeableness  without 
suspecting  it.  He  introduced  me  to  his  wife  (a  daugh* 


LI  VERPOOL, 


687 


1854.] 


ter  of  Lord  Crewe),  with  whom  and  himself  I had  a 
good  deal  of  talk.  . . . Mr.  Milnes  told  me  that  he 
owns  the  land  in  Yorkshire,  whence  some  of  the  pil- 
grims of  the  Mayflower  emigrated  to  Plymouth,  and 
that  Elder  Brewster  was  the  Postmaster  of  the  village,, 
. . . He  also  said  that  in  the  next  voyage  of  the  May^ 
flower,  after  she  carried  the  Pilgrims,  she  was  em- 
ployed in  transporting  a cargo  of  slaves  from  Africa, 
— to  the  West  Indies,  I suppose.  This  is  a queer 
fact,  and  would  be  nuts  for  the  Southerners. 


Mem.  — An  American  would  never  understand  the 
passage  in  Bunyan  about  Christian  and  Hopeful  going 
astray  along  a,  by-path  into  the  grounds  of  Giant  De- 
spair, — from  there  being  no  stiles  and  by-paths  in  our 
country. 


September  — On  Saturday  evening  my  wife 
and  I went  to  a soiree  given  by  the  Mayor  and  Mrs. 
Lloyd  at  the  Town  Hall  to  receive  the  Earl  of  Har- 
rowby.  It  was  quite  brilliant,  the  public  rooms  being 
really  magnificent,  and  adorned  for  the  occasion  with 
a large  collection  of  pictures,  belonging  to  Mr.  Naylor. 
They  were  mostly,  if  not  entirely,  of  modern  artists, 
— of  Turner,  Wilkie,  Landseer,  and  others  of  the  best 
English  painters.  Turner’s  seemed  too  ethereal  to 
have  been  done  by  mortal  hands. 

The  British  Scientific  Association  being  now  in  ses- 
sion here,  many  distinguished  strangers  were  present. 


September  29^A.  — Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  called  on 
me  at  the  Consulate  day  before  yesterday.  He  is 
pleasant  and  sensible.  . . . Speaking  of  American  pot 


538 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


iticians,  I remarked  that  they  were  seldom  anything 
but  politicians,  and  had  no  literary  or  other  culture 
beyond  their  own  calling.  He  said  the  case  was  the 

same  in  England,  and  instanced  Sir , who 

once  called  on  him  for  information  when  an  appeal 
had  been  made  to  him  respecting  two  literary  gentle° 

men.  Sir had  never  heard  the  names  of 

either  of  these  gentlemen,  and  applied  to  Mr.  Milnes, 
as  being  somewhat  conversant  with  the  literary  class, 
to  know  whether  they  were  distinguished  and  what 
were  their  claims.  The  names  of  the  two  literary  men 
were  James  Sheridan  Knowles  and  Alfred  Tennyson. 

October  5th.  — Yesterday  I was  present  at  a dejeu^ 
ner  on  board  the  James  Barnes,  on  occasion  of  her 
coming  under  the  British  flag,  having  been  built  for 
the  Messrs.  Barnes  by  Donald  McKay  of  Boston.  She 
is  a splendid  vessel,  and  magnificently  fitted  up,  though 
not  with  consummate  taste.  It  would  be  worth  while 
that  ornamental  architects  and  upholsterers  should 
study  this  branch  of  art,  since  the  ship-builders  seem 
willing  to  expend  a good  deal  of  money  on  it.  In 
fact,  I do  not  see  that  there  is  anywhere  else  so  much 
encouragement  to  the  exercise  of  ornamental  art.  I 
saw  nothing  to  criticise  in  the  solid  and  useful  details 
of  the  ship  ; the  ventilation,  in  particular,  being  free 
and  abundant,  so  that  the  hundreds  of  passengers  who 
will  have  their  berths  between  decks,  and  at  a still 
lower  depth,  will  have  good  air  and  enough  of  it. 

There  were  four  or  five  hundred  persons,  princi- 
pally Liverpool  merchants  and  their  wives*,  invited  to 
the  dejeuner;  and  the  tables  were  spread  between 
decks,  the  berths  for  passengers  not  being  yet  put  in. 
There  was  not  quite  light  enough  to  make  the  scene 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


639 


cheerful,  it  being  an  overcast  day ; and,  indeed,  there 
v/as  an  English  plainness  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
festal  room,  which  might  have  been  better  exchanged 
for  the  flowery  American  taste,  which  I have  just  been 
criticising.  With  flowers,  and  the  arrangement  of 
flags,  we  should  have  made  something  very  pretty  of 
the  space  between  decks ; but  there  was  nothing  to 
hide  the  fact,  that  in  a few  days  hence  there  would  be 
crowded  berths  and  sea-sick  steerage  passengers  where 
we  were  now  feasting.  The  cheer  was  very  good,  — 
cold  fowl  and  meats ; cold  pies  of  foreign  manufacture, 
very  rich,  and  of  mysterious  composition  ; and  cham- 
pagne in  plenty,  with  other  wines  for  those  who  liked 
them. 

I sat  between  two  ladies,  one  of  them  Mrs. , a 

pleasant  young  woman,  who,  I believe,  is  of  American 
provincial  nativity,  and  whom  I therefore  regarded  as 
half  a countrywoman.  We  talked  a good  deal  to- 
gether, and  I confided  to  her  my  annoyance  at  the 
prospect  of  being  called  up  to  answer  a toast ; but  she 
did  not  pity  me  at  all,  though  she  felt  much  alarm 
about  her  husband.  Captain  — ^ — , who  was  in  the 
same  predicament.  Seriously,  it  is  the  most  awful 
part  of  my  ofiicial  duty,  — this  necessity  of  making 
dinner-speeches  at  the  Mayor’s,  and  other  public  or 
semi-public  tables.  However,  my  neighborhood  to 

Mrs.  was  good  for  me,  inasmuch  as  by  laughing 

over  file  matter  with  her  I came  to  regard  it  in  a light 
and  ludicrous  way ; and  so,  when  the  time  actually 
came,  I stood  up  with  a careless  dare-devil  feelings 
The  chairman  toasted  the  President  immediately  after 
the  Queen,  and  did  me  the  honor  to  speak  of  myself 
in  a most  flattering  manner,  something  like  this : 

Great  by  his  position  under  the  Republic,  — greater 


540 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


still,  I am  bold  to  say,  in  the  Kepublic  of  letters ! ” 
I made  no  reply  at  all  to  this  ; in  truth,  I forgot  all 
about  it  when  I began  to  speak,  and  merely  thanked 
the  company  in  behalf  of  the  President  and  my  coum 
trymen,  and  made  a few  remarks  with  no  very  de^ 
cided  point  to  them.  However,  they  cheered  and  ap- 
plauded, and  I took  advantage  of  the  applause  to  sit 

down,  and  Mrs.  informed  me  that  I had  suc= 

ceeded  admirably.  It  was  no  success  at  all,  to  be 
sure ; neither  was  it  a failure,  for  I had  aimed  at  noth- 
ing, and  I had  exactly  hit  it.  But  after  sitting  down, 
I was  conscious  of  an  enjoyment  in  speaking  to  a pub- 
lic assembly,  and  felt  as  if  I should  like  to  rise  again. 
It  is  something  like  being  under  fire,  — a sort  of  ex- 
citement, not  exactly  pleasure,  but  more  piquant  than 
most  pleasures.  I have  felt  this  before,  in  the  same 
circumstances ; but,  while  on  my  legs,  my  impulse  is  to 
get  through  with  my  remarks  and  sit  down  again  as 
quickly  as  possible.  The  next  speech,  I think,  was  by 
Rev.  Dr. , the  celebrated  Arctic  gentleman,  in  re- 

ply to  a toast  complimentary  to  the  clergy.  He  turned 
aside  from  the  matter  in  hand  to  express  his  kind  feel- 
ings towards  America,  where  he  said  he  had  been  most 
hospitably  received,  especially  at  Cambridge  Univer- 
sity. He  also  made  allusions  to  me,  and  I suppose  it 
wotdd  have  been  no  more  than  civil  in  me  to  have  an- 
swered with  a speech  in  acknowledgment,  but  I did  not 
choose  to  make  another  venture,  so  merely  thanked 
him  across  the  corner  of  the  table,  for  he  sat  near  me. 
He  is  a venerable  - looking,  white-haired  gentleman, 
tall  and  slender,  with  a pale,  intelligent,  kindly  face. 

Other  speeches  were  made ; but  from  beginning  to 
end  there  was  not  one  breath  of  eloquence,  nor  even 
one  neat  sentence ; and  I rather  think  that  English- 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


641 


men  would  purposely  avoid  eloquence  or  neatness  in 
after-dinner  speeches.  It  seems  to  be  no  part  of  their 
object.  Yet  any  Englishman  almost,  much  more  gen- 
erally than  Americans,  will  stand  up  and  talk  on  in  a 
plain  way,  uttering  one  rough,  ragged,  and  shapeless 
sentence  after  another,  and  will  have  expressed  him- 
self sensibly,  though  in  a very  rude  manner,  before  he 
sits  down.  And  this  is  quite  satisfactory  to  his  audi- 
ence, who,  indeed,  are  rathev  prejudiced  against  the 
man  who  speaks  too  glibly. 

The  guests  began  to  depart  shortly  after  three 
o’clock.  This  morning  I have  seen  two  reports  of  my 
little  speech,  — one  exceedingly  incorrect ; another 
pretty  exact,  but  not  much  to  my  taste,  for  I seem  to 
have  left  out  everything  that  would  have  been  fittest 
to  say. 

October  Qth,  — The  people,  for  several  days,  have 
been  in  the  utmost  anxiety,  and  latterly,  in  the  highest 
exultation,  about  Sebastopol, — and  all  England,  and 
Europe  to  boot,  have  been  fooled  by  the  belief  that  it 
had  fallen.  This,  however,  now  turns  out  to  be  incor- 
rect ; and  the  public  visage  is  somewhat  grim  in  con- 
sequence^  I am  glad  of  it.  In  spite  of  his  actual  sym- 
pathies, it  is  impossible  for  a true  American  to  be 
otherwise  than  glad.  Success  makes  an  Englishman 
intolerable;  and,  already,  on  the  mistaken  idea  that  the 
way  was  open  to  the  prosperous  conclusion  of  the  war, 
The  “Times”  had  begun  to  throw  out  menaces  against 
America.  I shall  never  love  England  till  she  sues  to 
us  for  help,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  the  fewer  triumphs 
she  obtains,  the  better  for  all  parties.  An  English- 
man in  adversity  is  a very  respectable  character ; he 
does  not  lose  his  dignity,  but  merely  comes  to  a proper 


542 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


conception  of  himself.  It  is  rather  touching  to  an  ob- 
server, to  see  how  much  the  universal  heart  is  in  this 
matter,  — to  see  the  merchants  gathering  round  the 
telegraphic  messages,  posted  on  the  pillars  of  the  Ex- 
change news-room,  — the  people  in  the  street  who  can- 
not afford  to  buy  a paper  clustering  round  the  win- 
dows of  the  news-offices,  where  a copy  is  pinned  up, — 
the  groups  of  corporals  and  sergeants  at  the  recruiting 
rendezvous,  with  a newspaper  in  the  midst  of  them,  — 
and  all  earnest  and  sombre,  and  feeling  like  one  man 
together,  whatever  their  rank.  I seem  to  myself  like 
a spy  or  a traitor,  when  I meet  their  eyes,  and  am  con- 
scious that  I neither  hope  nor  fear  in  sympathy  with 
them,  although  they  look  at  me  in  full  confidence  of 
sympathy.  Their  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,” 
and  as  for  me,  being  a stranger  and  an  alien,  I ‘‘  inter- 
meddle not  with  their  joy.” 

October  ^th,  — My  ancestor  left  England  in  1630. 
I return  in  1853.  I sometimes  feel  as  if  I myself  had 
been  absent  these  two  hundred  and  twenty-three  years, 
leaving  England  emerging  from  the  feudal  system,  and 
finding  it,  on  my  return,  on  the  verge  of  republican- 
ism. It  brings  the  two  far-separated  points  of  time 
very  closely  together  to  view  the  matter  thus. 


October  \Qth.  — A day  or  two  ago  arrived  the  sad 
news  of  the  loss  of  the  Arctic  by  collision  with  a 
French  steamer  off  Newfoundland,  and  the  loss  also 
of  three  or  four  hundred  people.  I have  seldom  been 
more  affected  by  anything  quite  alien  from  my  per- 
sonal and  friendly  concerns,  than  by  the  death  of  Cap' 
tain  Luce  and  his  son.  The  boy  was  a delicate  lad, 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


643 


and  it  is  said  that  he  had  never  been  absent  from  his 
mother  till  this  time,  when  his  father  had  taken  him 
to  England  to  consult  a physician  about  a complaint 
in  his  hip.  So  his  father,  while  the  ship  was  sinking, 
was  obliged  to  decide  whether  he  would  put  the  poor, 
weakly,  timorous  child  on  board  the  boat,  to  take  his 
hard  chance  of  life  there,  or  keep  him  to  go  down  with 
himself  and  the  ship.  He  chose  the  latter;  and  within 
half  an  hour,  I suppose,  the  boy  was  among  the  child- 
angels.  Captain  Luce  could  not  do  less  than  die,  for 
his  own  part,  with  the  responsibility  of  all  those  lost 
lives  upon  him.  He  may  not  have  been  in  the  least 
to  blame  for  the  calamity,  but  it  was  certainly  too 
heavy  a one  for  him  to  survive.  He  was  a sensible 
man,  and  a gentleman,  courteous,  quiet,  with  some- 
thing almost  melancholy  in  his  address  and  aspect. 
Oftentimes  he  has  come  into  my  inner  office  to  say 
good-by  before  his  departures,  but  I cannot  precisely 
remember  whether  or  no  he  took  leave  of  me  before 
this  latest  voyage.  I never  exchanged  a great  many 
words  with  him  ; but  those  were  kind  ones. 


October  l^th,  — It  appears  to  be  customary  for  peo- 
ple of  decent  station,  but  in  distressed  circumstances, 
to  go  round  among  their  neighbors  and  the  public, 
accompanied  by  a friend,  who  explains  the  case.  I 
have  been  accosted  in  the  street  in  regard  to  one  of 
these  matters ; and  to-day  there  came  to  my  office  a 
grocer,  who  had  become  security  for  a friend,  and  who 
was  threatened  with  an  execution,  — with  another  gro- 
cer for  supporter  and  advocate.  The  beneficiary  takes 
very  little  active  part  in  the  affair,  merely  looking 
careworn,  distressed,  and  pitiable,  and  throwing  in  a 


544 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


word  of  corroboration,  or  a sigh,  or  an  acknowledg- 
ment, as  the  case  may  demand.  In  the  present  in- 
stance, the  friend,  a young,  respectable-looking  trades- 
man, with  a Lancashire  accent,  spoke  freely  and  sim- 
ply of  his  client’s  misfortunes,  not  pressing  the  case 
unduly,  but  doing  it  full  justice,  and  saying,  at  the 
close  of  the  interview,  that  it  was  no  pleasant  business 
for  himself.  The  broken  grocer  was  an  elderly  man, 
of  somewhat  sickly  aspect.  The  whole  matter  is  very 
foreign  to  American  habits.  No  respectable  American 
would  think  of  retrieving  his  affairs  by  such  means, 
but  would  prefer  ruin  ten  times  over ; no  friend  would 
take  up  his  cause ; no  public  would  think  it  worth 
while  to  prevent  the  small  catastrophe.  And  yet  the 
custom  is  not  without  its  good  side,  as  indicating  a 
closer  feeling  of  brotherhood,  a more  efficient  sense  of 
neighborhood,  than  exists  among  ourselves,  although, 
perhaps,  we  are  more  careless  of  a fellow -creature’s 
ruin,  because  ruin  with  us  is  by  no  means  the  fatal  and 
irretrievable  event  that  it  is  in  England. 

I am  impressed  with  the  ponderous  and  imposing 
look  of  an  English  legal  document,  — an  assignment 
of  real  estate  in  England,  for  instance,  — engrossed  on 
an  immense  sheet  of  thickest  paper,  in  a formal  hand, 
beginning  with  “ This  Indenture  ” in  German  text, 
and  with  occasional  phrases  of  form,  breaking  out  into 
large  script,  — very  long  and  repetitious,  fortified  with 
the  Mayor  of  Manchester’s  seal,  two  or  three  inches  in 
diameter,  which  is  certified  by  a notary-public,  whose 
signature,  again,  is  to  have  my  consular  certificate  and 
official  seal. 

November  2d,  — A young  Frenchman  enters,  of  gem 


1854-.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


645 


tlemanly  aspect,  with  a grayish  cloak  or  paletot  over- 
spreading his  upper  person,  and  a handsome  and  well- 
made  pair  of  black  trousers  and  well-fitting  boots  be- 
low. On  sitting  down,  he  does  not  throw  off  nor  at 
all  disturb  the  cloak.  Eying  him  more  closely,  one 
discerns  that  he  has  no  shirt-collar,  and  that  what  little 
is  visible  of  his  shirt-bosom  seems  not  to  be  of  to-day 
nor  of  yesterday,  — perhaps  not  even  of  the  day  bef ore. 
His  manners  are  very  good ; nevertheless,  he  is  a cox- 
comb and  a jackanapes.  He  avers  himself  a natural- 
ized citizen  of  America,  where  he  has  been  tutor  in 
several  families  of  distinction,  and  has  been  treated 
like  a son.  He  left  America  on  account  of  his  health, 
and  came  near  being  tutor  in  the  Duke  of  Norfolk’s 
family,  but  failed  for  lack  of  testimonials ; he  is  ex- 
ceedingly capable  and  accomplished,  but  reduced  in 
funds,  and  wants  employment  here,  or  the  means  of 
returning  to  America,  where  he  intends  to  take  a situ- 
ation under  government,  which  he  is  sure  of  obtaining. 
He  mentioned  a quarrel  which  he  had  recently  had 
with  an  Englishman  in  behalf  of  America,  and  would 
have  fought  a duel  had  such  been  the  custom  of  the 
country.  He  made  the  Englishman  foam  at  the  mouth, 
and  told  him  that  he  had  been  twelve  years  at  a mili- 
tary school,  and  could  easily  kill  him.  I say  to  him 
that  I see  little  or  no  prospect  of  his  getting  employ- 
ment here,  but  offer  to  inquire  whether  any  situation, 
as  clerk  or  otherwise,  can  be  obtained  for  him  in  a 
vessel  returning  to  America,  and  ask  his  address.  He 
has  no  address.  Much  to  my  surprise,  he  takes  his 
leave  without  requesting  pecuniary  aid,  but  hints  that 
he  shall  call  again. 

He  is  a very  disagreeable  young  fellow,  like  scores 
of  others  who  call  on  me  in  the  like  situation.  His 
35 


VOL.  VII. 


546 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


English  is  very  good  for  a Frenchman,  and  he  says  he 
speaks  it  the  least  well  of  five  languages.  He  has 
been  three  years  in  America,  and  obtained  his  natu- 
ralization papers,  he  says,  as  a special  favor,  and  by 
means  of  strong  interest.  Nothing  is  so  absolutely 
odious  as  the  sense  of  freedom  and  equality  pertain- 
ing to  an  American  grafted  on  the  mind  of  a native  of 
any  other  country  in  the  world.  A naturalized  citizen 
is  HATEFUL.  Nobody  has  a right  to  our  ideas,  unless 
born  to  them. 

November  — I lent  the  above  Frenchman  a 
small  sum ; he  advertised  for  employment  as  a teach- 
er ; and  he  called  this  morning  to  thank  me  for  my 
aid,  and  says  Mr.  C has  engaged  him  for  his  chil- 

dren, at  a guinea  a week,  and  that  he  has  also  another 
engagement.  The  poor  fellow  seems  to  have  been 
brought  to  a very  low  ebb.  He  has  pawned  every- 
thing, even  to  his  last  shirt,  save  the  one  he  had  on, 
and  had  been  living  at  the  rate  of  twopence  a day. 
I had  procured  him  a chance  to  return  to  America, 
but  he  was  ashamed  to  go  back  in  such  poor  circum- 
stances, and  so  determined  to  seek  better  fortune  here. 
I like  him  better  than  I did,  — partly,  I suppose,  be- 
cause I have  helped  him. 

November  14^A.  — The  other  day  I saw  an  elderly 
gentleman  walking  in  Dale  Street,  apparently  in  a 
state  of  mania ; for  as  he  limped  along  (being  afflicted 
with  lameness)  he  kept  talking  to  himself,  and  some- 
times breaking  out  into  a threat  against  some  casual 
passenger.  He  was  a very  respectable-looking  man  ; 
and  I remember  to  have  seen  him  last  summer,  in  the 
steamer,  returning  from  the  Isle  of  Man,  where  he 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


547 


had  been  staying  at  Castle  Mona.  What  a strange 
and  ngly  predicament  it  would  be  for  a person  of 
quiet  habits  to  be  suddenly  smitten  with  lunacy  at 
noonday  in  a crowded  street,  and  to  walk  along 
through  a dim  maze  of  extravagances,  — partly  con- 
scious of  them,  but  unable  to  resist  the  impulse  to  give 
way  to  them  ! A long-  suppressed  nature  might  be  rep- 
resented as  bursting  out  in  this  way,  for  want  of  any 
other  safety-valve. 

In  America,  people  seem  to  consider  the  govern- 
ment merely  as  a political  administration  ; and  they 
care  nothing  for  the  credit  of  it,  unless  it  be  the  ad- 
ministration of  their  own  political  party.  In  Eng- 
land, all  people,  of  whatever  party,  are  anxious  for 
the  credit  of  their  rulers.  Our  government,  as  a knot 
of  persons,  changes  so  entirely  every  four  years,  that 
the  institution  has  come  to  be  considered  a temporary 
thing. 

Looking  at  the  moon  the  other  evening,  little  R 

said,  It  blooms  out  in  the  morning ! ” taking  the 
moon  to  be  the  bud  of  the  sun. 

The  English  are  a most  intolerant  people.  Nobody 
is  permitted,  nowadays,  to  have  any  opinion  but  the 
prevalent  one.  There  seems  to  be  very  little  differ- 
ence between  their  educated  and  ignorant  classes  in 
this  respect;  if  any,  it  is  to  the  credit  of  the  latter, 
who  do  not  show  tokens  of  such  extreme  interest  in 
the  war.  It  is  agreeable,  however,  to  observe  how  all 
Englishmen  pull  together,  — how  each  man  comes  for- 
ward with  his  little  scheme  for  helping  on  the  war,  — 
how  they  feel  themselves  members  of  one  family,  talk- 


548 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


ing  together  about  their  common  interest,  as  if  they 
were  gathered  around  one  fireside ; and  then  what  a 
hearty  meed  of  honor  they  award  to  their  soldiers  ! 
It  is  worth  facing  death  for.  Whereas,  in  America, 
when  our  soldiers  fought  as  good  battles,  with  as  sfreat 
proportionate  loss,  and  far  more  valuable  triumphs, 
the  country  seemed  rather  ashamed  than  proud  of 
them. 

Mrs.  Heywood  tells  me  that  there  are  many  Catho- 
lics among  the  lower  classes  in  Lancashire  and  Chesh- 
ire, — probably  the  descendants  of  retainers  of  the  old 
Catholic  nobility  and  gentry,  who  are  more  numerous 
in  the  shires  than  in  other  parts  of  England.  The 
present  Lord  Sefton’s  grandfather  was  the  first  of  that 
race  who  became  Protestant. 

December  2bth,  — Commodore  P called  to  see 

me  this  morning,  — a brisk,  gentlemanly,  offhand,  but 
not  rough,  unaffected,  and  sensible  man,  looking  not 
so  elderly  as  he  ought,  on  account  of  a very  well  made 
wig.  He  is  now  on  his  return  from  a cruise  in  the 
East  Indian  seas,  and  goes  home  by  the  Baltic,  with  a 
prospect  of  being  very  well  received  on  account  of  his 
treaty  with  Japan.  I seldom  meet  with  a man  who 
puts  himself  more  immediately  on  conversable  terms 
than  the  Commodore.  He  soon  introduced  his  partic- 
ular business  with  me,  — it  being  to  inquire  whether 
I would  recommend  some  suitable  person  to  prepare 
his  notes  and  materials  for  the  publication  of  an  ac- 
count of  his  voyage.  He  was  good  enough  to  say  that 
he  had  fixed  upon  me,  in  his  own  mind,  for  this  office ; 
but  that  my  public  duties  would  of  course  prevent  me 
from  engaging  in  it.  I spoke  of  Herman  Melville. 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


549 


and  one  or  two  others  ; but  he  seems  to  have  some  ac- 
quaintance with  the  literature  of  the  day,  and  did  not 
grasp  very  cordially  at  any  name  that  I could  think 
of ; nor,  indeed,  could  1 recommend  any  one  with  full 
confidence.  It  would  be  a very  desirable  task  for  a 
young  literary  man,  or,  for  that  matter,  for  an  old 
one ; for  the  world  can  scarcely  have  in  reserve  a less 
hackneyed  theme  than  Japan. 

This  is  a most  beautiful  day  of  English  winter ; 
clear  and  bright,  with  the  ground  a little  frozen,  and 
the  green  grass  along  the  waysides  at  Rock  Ferry 
sprouting  up  through  the  frozen  pools  of  yesterday’s 
rain.  England  is  forever  green.  On  Christmas  Day, 
the  children  found  wall-flowers,  pansies,  and  pinks  in 
the  garden ; and  we  had  a beautiful  rose  from  the  gar- 
den of  the  hotel  grown  in  the  open  air.  Yet  one  is 
sensible  of  the  cold  here,  as  much  as  in  the  zero  at- 
mosphere of  America.  The  chief  advantage  of  the 
English  climate  is  that  we  are  not  tempted  to  heat 
our  rooms  to  so  unhealthy  a degree  as  in  New  Eng- 
land. 

I think  I have  been  happier  this  Christmas  than 
ever  before,  — by  my  own  fireside,  and  with  my  wife 
and  children  about  me,  — more  content  to  enjoy  what 
I have,  — less  anxious  for  anything  beyond  it  in  this 
life.  My  early  life  was  perhaps  a good  preparation 
for  the  declining  half  of  life ; it  having  been  such  a 
blank  that  any  thereafter  would  compare  favorably 
with  it.  For  a long,  long  while,  I have  occasionally 
been  visited  with  a singular  dream ; and  I have  an 
impression  that  I have  dreamed  it  ever  since  I have 
been  in  England.  It  is,  that  I am  still  at  college,  — 
or,  sometimes,  even  at  school,  — and  there  is  a sense 
that  I have  been  there  unconscionably  long,  and  have 


550 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


quite  failed  to  make  such  progress  as  my  contempo 
raries  have  done  ; and  I seem  to  meet  some  of  them 
with  a feeling  of  shame  and  depression  that  broods 
over  me  as  I think  of  it,  even  when  awake.  This 
dream,  recurring  all  through  these  twenty  or  thirty 
years,  must  be  one  of  the  effects  of  that  heavy  se- 
clusion in  which  I shut  myself  up  for  twelve  years 
after  leaving  college,  when  everybody  moved  onward, 
and  left  me  behind.  How  strange  that  it  should  come 
now,  when  I may  call  myself  famous  and  prosperous  I 
— when  I am  happy,  too  ! 

January  3(i,  1855. — The  progress  of  the  age  is 
trampling  over  the  aristocratic  institutions  of  Eng- 
land, and  they  crumble  beneath  it.  This  war  has 
given  the  country  a vast  impulse  towards  democracy. 
The  nobility  will  never  hereafter,  I think,  assume  or 
be  permitted  to  rule  the  nation  in  peace,  or  command 
armies  in  war,  on  any  ground  except  the  individual 
ability  which  may  appertain  to  one  of  their  number, 
as  well  as  to  a commoner.  And  yet  the  nobles  were 
never  positively  more  noble  than  now ; never,  perhaps, 
so  chivalrous,  so  honorable,  so  highly  cultivated ; but, 
relatively  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  do  not  main- 
tain their  old  place.  The  pressure  of  the  war  has 
tested  and  proved  this  fact,  at  home  and  abroad.  At 
this  moment  it  would  be  an  absurdity  in  the  nobles  to 
pretend  to  the  position  which  was  quietly  conceded  to 
them  a year  ago.  This  one  year  has  done  the  work 
of  fifty  ordinary  ones  ; or,  more  accurately,  it  has 
made  apparent  what  has  long  been  preparing  itself. 

January  6^A.  — The  American  ambassador  called 
on  me  to-day  and  stayed  a good  while,  — an  hour  oi 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


551 


two.  He  is  visiting  at  Mr.  William  Browne’s,  at 
Richmond  Hill,  having  come  to  this  region  to  bring 
his  niece,  who  is  to  be  bride’s-maid  at  the  wedding  of 
an  American  girl.  I like  Mr. . He  cannot  ex- 

actly be  called  gentlemanly  in  his  manners,  there  be- 
ing a sort  of  rusticity  about  him ; moreover,  he  has  a 
habit  of  squinting  one  eye,  and  an  awkward  carriage 
of  his  head ; but,  withal,  a dignity  in  his  large  person, 
and  a consciousness  of  high  position  and  importance, 
which  gives  him  ease  and  freedom.  Very  simple  and 
frank  in  his  address,  he  may  be  as  crafty  as  other 
diplomatists  are  said  to  be ; but  I see  only  good  sense 
and  plainness  of  speech,  — appreciative,  too,  and 
genial  enough  to  make  himself  conversable.  He 
talked  very  freely  of  himself  and  of  other  public  peo- 
ple, and  of  American  and  English  affairs.  He  re- 
turns to  America,  he  says,  next  October,  and  then 
retires  forever  from  public  life,  being  sixty -four  years 
of  age,  and  having  now  no  desire  except  to  write 
memoirs  of  his  times,  and  especially  of  the  adminis- 
tration of  Mr.  Polk.  I suggested  a doubt  whether 
the  people  would  permit  him  to  retire ; and  he  im- 
mediately responded  to  my  hint  as  regards  his  pros- 
pects for  the  Presidency.  He  said  that  his  mind  was 
fully  made  up,  and  that  he  would  never  be  a candi- 
date, and  that  he  had  expressed  this  decision  to  his 
friends  in  such  a way  as  to  put  it  out  of  his  own 
power  to  change  it.  He  acknowledged  that  he  should 
have  been  glad  of  the  nomination  for  the  Presidency 
in  1852,  but  that  it  was  now  too  late,  and  that  he  was 
too  old,  — and,  in  short,  he  seemed  to  be  quite  sincere 
in  his  nolo  episcoimri ; although,  really,  he  is  the 
only  Democrat,  at  this  moment,  whom  it  would  not 
be  absurd  to  talk  of  for  the  office.  As  he  talked.,  his 


652  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [185a 

face  flushed,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  inwardly  excited. 
Doubtless,  it  was  the  high  vision  of  half  his  lifetime 
which  he  here  relinquished.  I cannot  question  that 
he  is  sincere  ; but,  of  course,  should  the  people  insist 
upon  having  him  for  President,  he  is  too  good  a pa- 
triot to  refuse.  I wonder  whether  he  can  have  had 
any  object  in  saying  all  this  to  me.  He  might  see 
that  it  would  be  perfectly  natural  for  me  to  tell  it  to 
General  Pierce.  But  it  is  a very  vulgar  idea,  — this 
of  seeing  craft  and  subtlety,  when  there  is  a plain  and 
honest  aspect. 

January  ^th.  — I dined  at  Mr.  William  Browne’s 
(M.  P.)  last  evening  with  a large  party.  The  whole 
table  and  dessert  service  was  of  silver.  Speaking  of 
Shakespeare,  Mr. said  that  the  Duke  of  Somer- 

set, who  is  now  nearly  fourscore,  told  him  that  the 
father  of  John  and  Charles  Kemble  had  made  all 
possible  research  into  the  events  of  Shakespeare’s  life, 
and  that  he  had  found  reason  to  believe  that  Shake- 
speare attended  a certain  revel  at  Stratford,  and,  in- 
dulging too  much  in  the  conviviality  of  the  occasion, 
he  tumbled  into  a ditch  on  his  way  home,  and  died 
there  ! The  Kemble  patriarch  was  an  aged  man  when 
he  communicated  this  to  the  Duke  ; and  their  ages, 
linked  to  each  other,  would  extend  back  a good  way ; 
scarcely  to  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  however. 
If  I mistake  not,  it  was  from  the  traditions  of  Strat- 
ford that  Kemble  had  learned  the  above.  I do  not 
remember  ever  to  have  seen  it  in  print,  — which  is 
most  singular. 

Miss  L has  an  English  rather  than  an  Amer. 

ican  aspect,  — being  of  stronger  outline  than  most  of 
our  young  ladies,  although  handsomer  than  English 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


653 


women  generally,  extremely  self-possessed  and  well 
poised,  without  affectation  or  assumption,  but  quietly 
conscious  of  rank,  as  much  so  as  if  she  were  an  Earl’s 
daughter.  In  truth,  she  felt  pretty  much  as  an  Earl’s 
daughter  would  do  towards  the  merchants’  wives  and 
daughters  who  made  up  the  feminine  portion  of  the 
party. 

I talked  with  her  a little,  and  found  her  sensible, 
vivacious,  and  firm-textured,  rather  than  soft  and  sen- 
timental. She  paid  me  some  compliments  ; but  I do 
not  remember  paying  her  any. 

Mr.  J ’s  daughters,  two  pale,  handsome  girls, 

were  present.  One  of  them  is  to  be  married  to  a 

grandson  of  Mr. , who  was  also  at  the  dinner. 

He  is  a small  young  man,  with  a thin  and  fair  mus- 
tache, . . . and  a lady  who  sat  next  me  whispered 
that  his  expectations  are  <£6,000  per  annum.  It 
struck  me,  that,  being  a country  gentleman’s  son,  he 
kept  himself  silent ‘and  reserved,  as  feeling  himself 
too  good  for  this  commercial  dinner-party;  but  per- 
haps, and  I rather  think  so,  he  was  really  shy  and  had 
nothing  to  say,  being  only  twenty -one,  and  therefore 
quite  a boy  among  Englishmen.  The  only  man  of 

cognizable  rank  present,  except  Mr.  and  the 

Mayor  of  Liverpool,  was  a Baronet,  Sir  Thomas 
Birch. 

January  VI th. — S and  I were  invited  to  be 

present  at  the  wedding  of  Mr.  J ’s  daughter  this 

morning,  but  we  were  also  bidden  to  the  funeral  ser- 
vices of  Mrs.  G , a young  American  lady ; and  we 

went  to  the  “ house  of  mourning,”  rather  than  to  the 

house  of  feasting.”  Her  death  was  very  sudden.  I 


554  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

crossed  to  Rock  Ferry  on  Saturday,  and  met  her  hus- 
band in  the  boat.  He  said  that  his  wife  was  rather  un- 
well, and  that  he  had  just  been  sent  for  to  see  her ; but 
he  did  not  seem  at  all  alarmed.  And  yet,  on  reaching 
home,  he  found  her  dead  ! The  body  is  to  be  con- 
veyed to  America,  and  the  funeral  service  was  read 
over  her  in  her  house,  only  a few  neighbors  and  friends 
being  present.  W e were  shown  into  a darkened  room, 
where  there  was  a dim  gas-light  burning,  and  a fire 
glimmering,  and  here  and  there  a streak  of  sunshine 

struggling  through  the  drawn  curtains.  Mr.  G 

looked  pale,  and  quite  overcome  with  grief,  — this,  I 
suppose,  being  his  first  sorrow,  — and  he  has  a young 
baby  on  his  hands,  and  no  doubt  feels  altogether  for- 
lorn in  this  foreign  land.  The  clergyman  entered  in 
his  canonicals,  and  we  walked  in  a little  procession 
into  another  room,  where  the  coffin  was  placed.  Mr. 

G sat  down  and  rested  his  head  on  the  coffin : the 

clergyman  read  the  service ; then  knelt  down,  as  did 
most  of  the  company,  and  prayed  with  great  propriety 
of  manner,  but  with  no  earnestness,  — and  we  sepa- 
rated. Mr.  G is  a small,  smooth,  and  pretty 

young  man,  not  emphasized  in  any  way ; but  grief 
threw  its  awfulness  about  him  to-day  in  a degree  which 
I should  not  have  expected. 

January  20^7i.  — Mr.  Steele,  a gentleman  of  Rock 
Ferry,  showed  me  this  morning  a pencil-case  formerly 
belonging  to  Dr.  Johnson.  It  is  six  or  seven  inches 
long,  of  large  calibre,  and  very  clumsily  manufactured 
of  iron,  perhaps  plated  in  its  better  days,  but  now 
quite  bare.  Indeed,  it  looks  as  rough  as  to  article  of 
kitchen  furniture.  The  intaglio  on  the  end  is  a lion 
rampant.  On  the  whole,  it  well  became  Dr.  Johnson 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


555 


to  have  used  such  a stalwart  pencil-case.  It  had  a 
six-inch  measure  on  a part  of  it,  so  that  it  must  have 
been  at  least  eight  inches  long.  Mr.  Steele  says  he 
has  seen  a cracked  earthen  teapot,  of  large  size,  in 
which  Miss  Williams  used  to  make  tea  for  Dr.  John- 
son. 

God  himself  cannot  compensate  us  for  being  born 
for  any  period  short  of  eternity.  All  the  misery  en- 
dured here  constitutes  a claim  for  another  life,  and, 
still  more,  aZZ  the  happiness  ; because  all  true  happi- 
ness involves  something  more  than  the  earth  owns, 
and  needs  something  more  than  a mortal  capacity  for 
the  enjoyment  of  it. 

After  receiving  an  injury  on  the  head,  a person  fan- 
cied all  the  rest  of  his  life  that  he  heard  voices  flout- 
ing, jeering,  and  upbraiding  him. 

February  Vdth,  — I dined  with  the  Mayor  at  the 
Town  Hall  last  Friday  evening.  I sat  next  to  Mr.  W. 

J , an  Irish- American  merchant,  who  is  in  very 

good  standing  here.  He  told  me  that  he  used  to  be 
very  well  acquainted  with  General  Jackson,  and  that 
he  was  present  at  the  street  fight  between  him  and  the 
Bentons,  and  helped  to  take  General  Jackson  off  the 
ground.  Colonel  Benton  shot  at  him  from  behind ; 
but  it  was  Jesse  Benton’s  ball  that  hit  him  and  broke 
his  arm.  I did  not  understand  him  to  infer  any 
treachery  or  cowardice  from  the  circumstance  of  Colo- 
nel Benton’s  shooting  at  Jackson  tioni  behind,  but 
suppose  it  occurred  in  the  confusion  and  excitement 

of  the  street  fight.  Mr.  W.  J seems  to  think  that, 

after  all,  the  reconciliation  between  the  old  General 


556 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

and  Benton  was  merely  external,  and  that  they  really 
hated  one  another  as  before.  I do  not  think  so. 

These  dinners  of  the  Mayors  are  rather  agreeable 
than  otherwise,  except  for  the  annoyance,  in  my  case, 
of  being  called  up  to  speak  to  a toast,  and  that  is  less 
disagreeable  than  at  first.  The  suite  of  rooms  at  the 
Town  House  is  stately  and  splendid,  and  all  the  May- 
ors, as  far  as  I have  seen,  exercise  hospitality  in  a 
manner  worthy  of  the  chief  magistrates  of  a great  city. 
They  are  supposed  always  to  spend  much  more  than 
their  salary  (which  is  £2,000)  in  these  entertainments. 
The  town  provides  the  wines,  I am  told,  and  it  might 
be  expected  that  they  should  be  particularly  good,  — - 
at  least,  those  which  improve  by  age,  for  a quarter 
of  a century  should  be  only  a moderate  age  for  wine 
from  the  cellars  of  centuries-long  institutions,  like  a 
corporate  borough.  Each  Mayor  might  lay  in  a sup- 
ply of  the  best  vintage  he  could  find,  and  trust  his 
good  name  to  posterity  to  the  credit  of  that  wine ; 
and  so  he  would  be  kindly  and  warmly  remembered 
long  after  his  own  nose  had  lost  its  rubicundity.  In 
point  of  fact,  the  wines  seem  to  be  good,  but  not  re- 
markable. The  dinner  was  good,  and  very  handsomely 
served,  with  attendance  enough,  both  in  the  hall  be- 
low — where  the  door  was  wide  open  at  the  appointed 
hour,  notwithstanding  the  cold  — and  at  table ; some 
being  in  the  rich  livery  of  the  borough,  and  some  in 
plain  clothes.  Servants,  too,  were  stationed  at  various 
points  from  the  hall  to  the  reception-room ; and  the 
last  one  shouted  forth  the  name  of  the  entering  guest. 
There  were,  I should  think,  about  fifty  guests  at  this 
dinner.  . . . Two  bishops  were  present.  The  Bish- 
ops of  Chester  and  New  South  Wales,  dressed  in  a 
kind  of  long  tunics,  with  black  breeches  and  silk 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


557 


stockings,  insomuch  that  I first  fancied  they  were 
Catholics.  Also  Dr.  McNeil,  in  a stiff-collared  coat, 
looking  more  like  a general  than  a divine.  There 
were  two  officers  in  blue  uniforms ; and  all  the  rest 
of  us  were  in  black,  with  only  two  white  waistcoats, 
— my  own  being  one,  — and  a rare  sprinkling  of 
white  cravats.  How  hideously  a man  looks  in  them ! 
I should  like  to  have  seen  such  assemblages  as  must 
have  gathered  in  that  reception-room,  and  walked 
with  stately  tread  to  the  dining-hall,  in  times  past,  — 
the  Mayor  and  other  civic  dignities  in  their  robes, 
noblemen  in  their  state  dresses,  the  Consul  in  his  olive- 
leaf  embroidery,  everybody  in  some  sort  of  bedizen- 
nient,  — and  then  the  dinner  would  have  been  a mag- 
nificent spectacle,  worthy  of  the  gilded  hall,  the  rich 
table-service,  and  the  powdered  and  gold-laced  servi- 
tors. At  a former  dinner  I remember  seeing  a gentle- 
man in  small-clothes,  with  a dress-sword ; but  all  for- 
malities of  the  kind  are  passing  away.  The  Mayor’s 
dinners,  too,  will  no  doubt  be  extinct  before  many 
years  go  by.  I drove  home  from  the  Woodside  Ferry 
in  a cab  with  Bishop  Burke  and  two  other  gentlemen. 
The  Bishop  is  nearly  seven  feet  high. 

After  writing  the  foregoing  account  of  a civic  ban- 
quet, where  I ate  turtle-soup,  salmon,  woodcock,  oys- 
ter patties,  and  I know  not  what  else,  I have  been  to 
the  News-Room  and  found  the  Exchange  pavement 
densely  thronged  with  people  of  all  ages  and  of  all 
manner  of  dirt  and  rags.  They  were  waiting  for  soup- 
tickets,  and  waiting  very  patiently  too,  without  outcry 
or  disturbance,  or  even  sour  looks,  — only  patience 
and  meekness  in  their  faces.  Well,  I don’t  know  that 
they  have  a right  to  be  impatient  of  starvation ; but 
still  there  does  seem  to  be  an  insolence  of  riches  and 


558  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1855. 

prosperity,  which  one  day  or  another  will  have  a 
downfall.  And  this  will  be  a pity,  too. 

On  Saturday  I went  with  my  friend  Mr.  Bright  to 
Otterpool  and  to  Larkhill  to  see  the  skaters  on  the 
private  waters  of  those  two  seats  of  gentlemen ; and 
it  is  a wonder  to  behold  — and  it  is  always  a new 
wonder  to  me  — how  comfortable  Englishmen  know 
how  to  make  themselves ; locating  their  dwellings  far 
within  private  grounds,  with  secure  gateways  and  por- 
ters’ lodges,  and  the  smoothest  roads,  and  trimmest 
paths,  and  shaven  lawns,  and  clumps  of  trees,  and 
every  bit  of  the  ground,  every  hill  and  dell,  made  the 
most  of  for  convenience  and  beauty,  and  so  well  kept 
that  even  winter  cannot  cause  disarray ; and  all  this 
appropriated  to  the  same  family  for  generations,  so 
that  I suppose  they  come  to  believe  it  created  exclu- 
sively and  on  purpose  for  them.  And,  really,  the  re- 
sult is  good  and  beautiful.  It  is  a home,  — an  insti- 
tution which  we  Americans  have  not ; but  then  I 
doubt  whether  anybody  is  entitled  to  a home  in  this 
world,  in  so  full  a sense. 

The  day  was  very  cold,  and  the  skaters  seemed  to 
enjoy  themselves  exceedingly.  They  were,  I suppose, 
friends  of  the  owners  of  the  grounds,  and  Mr.  Bright 
said  they  were  treated  in  a jolly  way,  with  hot  lunch- 
eons. The  skaters  practise  skating  more  as  an  art, 
and  can  perform  finer  manoeuvres  on  the  ice,  than  our 
New  England  skaters  usually  can,  though  the  English 
have  so  much  less  opportunity  for  practice.  A beg- 
gar-woman was  haunting  the  grounds  at  Otterpool, 
but  I saw  nobody  give  her  anything.  I wonder  how 
she  got  inside  of  the  gate. 


Mr.  W.  J- spoke  of  General  Jackson  as  having 


LIVERPOOL. 


559 


1855.] 


come  from  the  same  part  of  Ireland  as  himself,  and 
perhaps  of  the  same  family.  I wonder  whether  he 
meant  to  say  that  the  General  was  horn  in  Ireland, 
— that  having  been  suspected  in  America. 


February  21st  — Yesterday  two  companies  of  work- 
people came  to  our  house  in  Rock  Park,  asking  as- 
sistance,  being  out  of  work  and  with  no  resource  other 
than  charity.  There  were  a dozen  or  more  in  each 
party.  Their  deportment  was  quiet  and  altogether  un- 
exceptionable, — no  rudeness,  no  gruffness,  nothing  of 
menace.  Indeed,  such  demonstrations  would  not  have 
been  safe,  as  they  were  followed  about  by  two  police- 
men ; but  they  really  seem  to  take  their  distress  as 
their  own  misfortune  and  God’s  will,  and  impute  it  to 
nobody  as  a fault.  This  meekness  is  very  touching, 
and  makes  one  question  the  more  whether  they  have 
all  their  rights.  There  have  been  disturbances,  within 
a day  or  two,  in  Liverpool,  and  shops  have  been 
broken  open  and  robbed  of  bread  and  money ; but 
this  is  said  to  have  been  done  by  idle  vagabonds,  and 
not  by  the  really  hungry  work-people.  These  last 
submit  to  starvation  gently  and  patiently,  as  if  it  were 
an  every-day  matter  with  them,  or,  at  least,  nothing 
but  what  lay  fairly  within  their  horoscope.  I suppose, 
in  fact,  their  stomachs  have  the  physical  habit  that 
makes  hunger  not  intolerable,  because  customary.  If 
they  had  been  used  to  a full  meat  diet,  their  hunger 
would  be  fierce,  like  that  of  ravenous  beasts  ; but  now 
they  are  trained  to  it. 


I think  that  the  feeling  of  an  American,  divided,  as 
I am,  by  the  ocean  from  his  country,  has  a continual 
and  immediate  correspondence  with  the  national  feel- 


560 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


ing  at  home  ; and  it  seems  to  be  independent  of  any 
external  communication.  Thus,  my  ideas  about  the 
Russian  war  vary  in  accordance  with  the  state  of  the 
public  mind  at  home,  so  that  I am  conscious  where« 
abouts  public  sympathy  is. 

March  1th.  — J and  I walked  to  Tranmere, 

and  passed  an  old  house  which  I suppose  to  be  Tran- 
mere  Hall.  Our  way  to  it  was  up  a hollow  lane,  with 
a bank  and  hedge  on  each  side,  and  with  a few  thatched 
stone  cottages,  centuries  old,  their  ridge-poles  crooked 
and  the  stones  time-worn,  scattered  along.  At  one 
point,  there  was  a wide,  deep  well,  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  red  freestone,  and  with  steps,  also  hewn  in  solid 
rock,  leading  down  to  it.  These  steps  were  much  hol- 
lowed by  the  feet  of  those  who  had  come  to  the  well ; 
and  they  reach  beneath  the  water,  which  is  very  high. 
The  well  probably  supplied  water  to  the  old  cotters  and 
retainers  of  Tranmere  Hall  five  hundred  years  ago. 
The  Hall  stands  on  the  verge  of  a long  hill  which 
stretches  behind  Tranmere  and  as  far  as  Birkenhead. 

It  is  an  old  gray  stone  edifice,  with  a good  many 
gables,  and  windows  with  mullions,  and  some  of  them 
extending  the  whole  breadth  of  the  gable.  In  some 
parts  of  the  house,  the  windows  seem  to  have  been 
built  up ; probably  in  the  days  when  daylight  was 
taxed.  The  form  of  the  Hall  is  multiplex,  the  roofs 
sloping  down  and  intersecting  one  another,  so  as  to 
make  the  general  result  indescribable.  There  were 
two  sundials  on  different  sides  of  the  house,  both  the 
dial-plates  of  which  were  of  stone  ; and  on  one  the  fig- 
ures, so  far  as  I could  see,  were  quite  worn  off,  but  the 
gnomon  still  cast  a shadow  over  it  in  such  a way  that 
I could  judge  that  it  was  about  noon.  The  other  dial 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


561 


had  some  half -worn  hour-marks,  but  no  gnomon.  The 
chinks  of  the  stones  of  the  house  were  very  weedy,  and 
the  building  looked  quaint  and  venerable  ; but  it  is 
now  converted  into  a farm-house,  with  the  farm-yard 
and  outbuildings  closely  appended.  A village,  too, 
has  grown  up  about  it,  so  that  it  seems  out  of  place 
among  modern  stuccoed  dwellings,  such  as  are  erected 
for  tradesmen  and  other  moderate  people  who  have 
their  residences  in  the  neighborhood  of  a great  city. 
Among  these  there  are  a few  thatched  cottages,  the 
homeliest  domiciles  that  ever  mortals  lived  in,  belong- 
ing to  the  old  estate.  Directly  across  the  street  is  a 
Wayside  Inn,  “licensed  to  sell  wine,  spirits,  ale,  and 
tobacco.”  The  street  itself  has  been  laid  out  since 
the  land  grew  valuable  by  the  increase  of  Liverpool 
and  Birkenhead  ; for  the  old  Hall  would  never  have 
been  built  on  the  verge  of  a public  way. 

March  21th. — I attended  court  to-day,  at  St. 
George’s  Hall,  with  my  wife,  Mr.  Bright,  and  Mr. 
Channing,  sitting  in  the  High  Sheriff’s  seat.  It  was 
the  civil  side,  and  Mr.  Justice  Cresswell  presided.  The 
lawyers,  as  far  as  aspect  goes,  seemed  to  me  inferior 
to  an  American  bar,  judging  from  their  countenances, 
whether  as  intellectual  men  or  gentlemen.  Their  wigs 
and  gowns  do  not  impose  on  the  spectator,  though  they 
strike  him  as  an  imposition.  Their  date  is  past.  Mr. 
Warren,  of  the  “Ten  Thousand  a Year,”  was  in 
court,  — a pale,  thin,  intelligent  face,  evidently  a ner- 
vous man,  more  unquiet  than  anybody  else  in  court,  — 
always  restless  in  his  seat,  whispering  to  his  neighbors, 
settling  his  wig,  perhaps  with  an  idea  that  people  sin- 
gle him  out.  St.  George’s  Hall  — the  interior  hall  it- 
self, I mean  — is  a spacious,  lofty,  and  most  rich  and 

VOL.  VII.  36 


562 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1855. 


noble  apartment,  and  very  satisfactory.  The  pave- 
ment is  made  of  mosaic  tiles,  and  has  a beautiful 
effect. 

April  ItJi.  — I dined  at  Mr.  J.  P.  Hey  wood’s  on 

Thursday,  and  met  there  Mr.  and  Mrs. of  Smith- 

ell’s  Hall.  The  Hall  is  an  old  edifice  of  some  five 

hundred  years,  and  Mrs. says  there  is  a bloody 

footstep  at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase.  The  tradi- 
tion is  that  a certain  martyr,  in  Bloody  Mary’s  time, 
being  examined  before  the  occupant  of  the  Hall,  and 
committed  to  prison,  stamped  his  foot,  in  earnest  pro- 
test against  the  injustice  with  which  he  was  treated. 
Blood  issued  from  his  foot,  which  slid  along  the  stone 
pavement,  leaving  a long  footmark,  printed  in  blood. 
And  there  it  has  remained  ever  since,  in  spite  of  the 

scrubbings  of  all  succeeding  generations.  Mrs. 

spoke  of  it  with  much  solemnity,  real  or  affected.  She 
says  that  they  now  cover  the  bloody  impress  with  a 
carpet,  being  unable  to  remove  it.  In  the  History  of 
Lancashire,  which  I looked  at  last  night,  there  is  quite 
a different  account,  — according  to  which  the  foot- 
step is  not  a bloody  one,  but  is  a slight  cavity  or  ine- 
quality in  the  surface  of  the  stone,  somewhat  in  the 
shape  of  a man’s  foot  with  a peaked  shoe.  The  mar- 
tyr’s name  was  George  Marsh.  He  was  a curate,  and 

was  afterwards  burnt.  Mrs. asked  me  to  go  and 

see  the  Hall  and  the  footmark ; and  as  it  is  in  Lanca- 
shire, and  not  a great  way  oft*,  and  a curious  old  place, 
perhaps  I may. 

April  \2tli,  — The  Earl  of , whom  I saw  the 

other  day  at  St.  George’s  Hall,  has  a somewhat  elderly 
look,  — a pale  and  rather  thin  face,  which  strikes  one 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


663 


as  remarkably  short,  or  compressed  from  top  to  bot- 
tom. Nevertheless,  it  has  great  intelligence,  and  sen- 
sitiveness too,  I should  think,  but  a cold,  disagreeable 
expression.  I should  take  him  to  be  a man  of  not 
very  pleasant  temper,  — not  genial.  He  has  no  phys- 
ical presence  nor  dignity,  yet  one  sees  him  to  be  a per- 
son of  rank  and  consequence.  But,  after  all,  there  is 
nothing  about  him  which  it  need  have  taken  centu- 
ries of  illustrious  nobility  to  produce,  especially  in  a 

man  of  remarkable  ability,  as  Lord certainly  is. 

S , who  attended  court  all  through  the  Hapgood 

trial,  and  saw  Lord  — ^ — for  hours  together  every  day, 
has  come  to  conclusions  quite  different  from  mine. 
She  thinks  him  a perfectly  natural  person,  without 
any  assumption,  any  self-consciousness,  any  scorn  of 
the  lower  world.  She  was  delighted  with  his  ready 
appreciation  and  feeling  of  what  was  passing  around 
him,  — his  quick  enjoyment  of  a joke,  — the  simplicity 
and  unaffectedness  of  his  emotion  at  whatever  inci- 
dents excited  his  interest,  — the  genial  acknowledg- 
ment of  sympathy,  causing  him  to  look  round  and  ex- 
change glances  with  those  near  him,  who  were  not  his 
individual  friends,  but  barristers  and  other  casual  per- 
sons. He  seemed  to  her  all  that  a nobleman  ought  to 
be,  entirely  simple  and  free  from  pretence  and  self-as- 
sertion, which  persons  of  lower  rank  can  hardly  help 
bedevilling  themselves  with.  I saw  him  only  a very 
few  moments,  so  cannot  put  my  observation  against 
hers,  especially  as  I was  influenced  by  what  I had 
heard  the  Liverpool  people  say  of  him. 

I do  not  know  whether  I have  mentioned  that  the 
handsomest  man  I have  seen  in  England  was  a young 
footman  of  Mr.  Heywood’s.  In  his  rich  livery,  he 
was  a perfect  J oseph  Andrews. 


664 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


In  my  Romance,  the  original  emigrant  to  America 
may  have  carried  away  with  him  a family  secret, 
whereby  it  was  in  his  power,  had  he  so  chosen,  to  have 
brought  about  the  ruin  of  the  family.  This  secret  he 
transmits  to  his  American  progeny,  by  whom  it  is  in- 
herited throughout  all  the  intervening  generationSc 
At  last,  the  hero  of  the  Romance  comes  to  England, 
and  finds,  that,  by  means  of  this  secret,  he  still  has 
it  in  his  power  to  procure  the  downfall  of  the  family. 
It  would  be  something  similar  to  the  story  of  Mele- 
ager, whose  fate  depended  on  the  firebrand  that  his 
mother  had  snatched  from  the  flames. 

April  — On  Saturday  I was  present  at  a de- 
jeuner on  board  the  Donald  McKay;  the  principal 
guest  being  Mr.  Layard,  M.  P.  There  were  several 
hundred  people,  quite  filling  the  between  decks  of  the 
ship,  which  was  converted  into  a saloon  for  the  occa- 
sion. I sat  next  to  Mr.  Layard,  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  so  had  a good  opportunity  of  seeing  and 
getting  acquainted  with  him.  He  is  a man  in  early 
middle  age,  — of  middle  stature,  with  an  open,  frank, 
intelligent,  kindly  face.  His  forehead  is  not  expan- 
sive, but  is  prominent  in  the  perceptive  regions,  and 
retreats  a good  deal.  His  mouth  is  full,  — I liked 
him  from  the  first.  He  was  very  kind  and  compli- 
mentary to  me,  and  made  me  promise  to  go  and  see 
him  in  London. 

It  would  have  been  a very  pleasant  entertainment, 
only  that  my  pleasure  in  it  was  much  marred  by  hav- 
ing to  acknowledge  a toast  in  honor  of  the  President. 
However,  such  things  do  not  trouble  me  nearly  so 
much  as  they  used  to  do,  and  I came  through  it  toler- 
ably enough.  Mr.  Layard’s  speech  was  the  great  af* 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


565 


fair  of  the  day.  He  speaks  with  much  fluency  (though 
he  assured  me  that  he  had  to  put  great  force  upon 
himself  to  speak  publicly),  and,  as  he  warms  up,  seems 
to  engage  with  his  whole  moral  and  physical  man,  — > 
quite  possessed  with  what  he  has  to  say.  His  evident 
earnestness  and  good  faith  make  him  eloquent,  and 
stand  him  instead  of  oratorical  graces.  His  views  of 
the  position  of  England  and  the  prospects  of  the  war 
were  as  dark  as  well  could  be  ; and  his  speech  was  ex- 
ceedingly to  the  purpose,  full  of  common  - sense,  and 
with  not  one  word  of  clap-trap.  Judging  from  its  effect 
upon  the  audience,  he  spoke  the  voice  of  the  whole 
English  people,  — although  an  English  Baronet,  who 
sat  next  below  me,  seemed  to  dissent,  or  at  least  to 
think  that  it  was  not  exactly  the  thing  for  a stranger 
to  hear.  It  concluded  amidst  great  cheering.  Mr. 
Layard  appears  to  be  a true  Englishman,  with  a moral 
force  and  strength  of  character,  and  earnestness  of 
purpose,  and  fulness  of  common-sense,  such  as  have 
always  served  England’s  turn  in  her  past  successes  ; 
but  rather  fit  for  resistance  than  progress.  No  doubt, 
he  is  a good  and  very  able  man ; but  I question 
whether  he  could  get  England  out  of  the  difficulties 
which  he  sees  so  clearly,  or  could  do  much  better  than 
Lord  Palmerston,  whom  he  so  decries. 


April  — Taking  the  deposition  of  sailors  yes- 
terday, in  a case  of  alleged  ill-usage  by  the  officers  of 
a vessel,  one  of  the  witnesses  was  an  old  seaman  of 
sixty.  In  reply  to  some  testimony  of  his,  the  captain 
said,  You  were  the  oldest  man  in  the  ship,  and  we 
honored  you  as  such.”  The  mate  also  said  that  he 
never  could  have  thought  of  striking  an  old  man  like 


566  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1855. 

that.  Indeed,  the  poor  old  fellow  had  a kind  of  dig- 
nity and  venerableness  about  him,  though  he  confessed 
to  having  been  drunk,  and  seems  to  have  been  a mis- 
chief-maker, — what  they  call  a sea-preacher,  — pro- 
moting discontent  and  grumbling.  He  must  have 
been  a very  handsome  man  in  his  youth,  having  regu- 
lar features  of  a noble  and  beautiful  cast.  His  beard 
was  gray ; but  his  dark  hair  had  hardly  a streak  of 
white,  and  was  abundant  all  over  his  head.  He  was 
deaf,  and  seemed  to  sit  in  a kind  of  seclusion,  unless 
when  loudly  questioned  or  appealed  to.  Once  he 
broke  forth  from  a deep  silence  thus,  ‘‘  I defy  any 
man  ! ” and  then  was  silent  again.  It  had  a strange 
effect,  this  general  defiance,  which  he  meant,  I sup- 
pose, in  answer  to  some  accusation  that  he  thought 
was  made  against  him.  His  general  behavior  through- 
out the  examination  was  very  decorous  and  proper ; 
and  he  said  he  had  never  but  once  hitherto  been  be- 
fore a consul,  and  that  was  in  1819,  when  a mate  had 
ill-used  him,  and,  ‘‘  being  a young  man  then,  I gave 
him  a beating,”  — whereupon  his  face  gleamed  with  a 
quiet  smile,  like  faint  sunshine  on  an  old  ruin.  By 
many  a tempest  has  his  beard  been  shook  ” ; and  I 
suppose  he  must  soon  go  into  a workhouse,  and 
thence,  shortly,  to  his  grave.  He  is  now  in  a hospital, 
having,  as  the  surgeon  certifies,  some  ribs  fractured  ; 
but  there  does  not  appear  to  have  been  any  violence 
used  upon  him  aboard  the  ship  of  such  a nature  as  to 
cause  this  injury,  though  he  swears  it  was  a blow  from 
a rope,  and  nothing  else.  What  struck  me  in  the  case 
was  the  respect  and  rank  that  his  age  seemed  to  give 
him,  in  the  view  of  the  officers ; and  how,  as  the  cap- 
tain’s expression  signified,  it  lifted  him  out  of  his  low 
position,  and  made  him  a person  to  be  honored.  The 


LIVERPOOL. 


567 


1855.] 


dignity  of  his  manner  is  perhaps  partly  owing  to  the 
ancient  mariner,  with  his  long  experience,  being  an 
oracle  among  the  forecastle  men. 


3fay  3(i.  — It  rains  to-day,  after  a very  long  period 
of  east-wind  and  dry  weather.  The  east-wind  here, 
blowing  across  the  island,  seems  to  be  the  least  damp 
of  all  the  winds ; but  it  is  full  of  malice  and  mischief, 
of  an  indescribably  evil  temper,  and  stabs  one  like  a 
cold,  poisoned  dagger.  I never  spent  so  disagreeable 
a spring  as  this,  although  almost  every  day  for  a 
month  has  been  bright. 


Friday.,  May  lltTi.  — A few  weeks  ago,  a sailor,  a 
most  pitiable  object,  came  to  my  office  to  complain  of 
cruelty  from  his  captain  and  mate.  They  had  beaten 
him  shamefully,  of  which  he  bore  grievous  marks 
about  his  face  and  eyes,  and  bruises  on  his  head  and 
other  parts  of  his  person ; and  finally  the  ship  had 
sailed,  leaving  him  behind.  I never  in  my  life  saw  so 
forlorn  a fellow,  so  ragged,  so  wretched  ; and  even  his 
wits  seemed  to  have  been  beaten  out  of  him,  if  per- 
chance he  ever  had  any.  He  got  an  order  for  the  hos- 
pital ; and  there  he  has  been,  off  and  on,  ever  since, 
till  yesterday,  when  I received  a message  that  he  was 
dying,  and  wished  to  see  the  Consul ; so  I went  with 
Mr.  Wilding  to  the  hospital.  We  were  ushered  into 
the  waiting-room,  — a kind  of  parlor,  with  a fire  in 
the  grate,  and  a centre-table,  whereon  lay  one  or  two 
medical  journals,  with  wood  engravings;  and  there 
was  a young  man,  who  seemed  to  be  an  official  of  the 
house,  reading.  Shortly  the  surgeon  appeared,  — a 
brisk,  cheerful,  kindly  sort  of  person,  whom  I have 
met  there  on  previous  visits.  He  told  us  that  the  man 


568 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


was  dying,  and  probably  would  not  be  able  to  commu- 
nicate anything,  but,  nevertheless,  ushered  us  up  to 
the  highest  floor,  and  into  the  room  where  he  lay.  It 
was  a large,  oblong  room,  with  ten  or  twelve  beds  in 
it,  each  occupied  by  a patient.  The  surgeon  said  that 
the  hospital  was  often  so  crowded  that  they  were  com- 
pelled to  lay  some  of  the  patients  on  the  floor.  The 
man  whom  we  came  to  see  lay  on  his  bed  in  a little 
recess  formed  by  a projecting  window  ; so  that  there 
was  a kind  of  seclusion  for  him  to  die  in.  He  seemed 
quite  insensible  to  outward  things,  and  took  no  notice 
of  our  approach,  nor  responded  to  what  was  said  to 
him,  — lying  on  his  side,  breathing  with  short  gasps ; 
his  apparent  disease  being  inflammation  of  the  chest, 
although  the  surgeon  said  that  he  might  be  found  to 
have  sustained  internal  injury  by  bruises.  He  was 
restless,  tossing  his  head  continually,  mostly  with  his 
eyes  shut,  and  much  compressed  and  screwed  up,  but 
sometimes  opening  them ; and  then  they  looked 
brighter  and  darker  than  when  I first  saw  them.  I 
think  his  face  was  not  at  any  time  so  stupid  as  at  his 
first  interview  with  me  ; but  whatever  intelligence  he 
had  was  rather  inward  than  outward,  as  if  there  might 
be  life  and  consciousness  at  a depth  within,  while  as 
to  external  matters  he  was  in  a mist.  The  surgeon 
felt  his  wrist,  and  said  that  there  was  absolutely  no 
pulsation,  and  that  he  might  die  at  any  moment,  or 
might  perhaps  live  an  hour,  but  that  there  was  no 
prospect  of  his  being  able  to  communicate  with  me. 
He  was  quite  restless,  nevertheless,  and  sometimes 
half  raised  himself  in  bed,  sometimes  turned  himself 
quite  over,  and  then  lay  gasping  for  an  instant.  His 
woollen  shirt  being  thrust  up  on  his  arm,  there  ap- 
peared a tattooing  of  a ship  and  anchor,  and  othei 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


569 


nautical  emblems,  on  both  of  them,  which  another 
sailor  - patient,  on  examining  them,  said  must  have 
been  done  years  ago.  This  might  be  of  some  impor- 
tance, because  the  dying  man  had  told  me,  when  I 
first  saw  him,  that  he  was  no  sailor,  but  a farmer,  and 
that,  this  being  his  first  voyage,  he  had  been  beaten 
by  the  captain  for  not  doing  a sailor’s  duty,  which  he 
had  had  no  opportunity  of  learning.  These  sea-em- 
blems indicated  that  he  was  probably  a seaman  of 
some  years’  service. 

While  we  stood  in  the  little  recess,  such  of  the  other 
patients  as  were  convalescent  gathered  near  the  foot  of 
the  bed  ; and  the  nurse  came  and  looked  on,  and  hov^ 
ered  about  us,  — a sharp-eyed,  intelligent  woman  of 
middle  age,  with  a careful  and  kind  expression,  neg- 
lecting nothing  that  was  for  the  patient’s  good,  yet 
taking  his  death  as  coolly  as  any  other  incident  in  her 
daily  business.  Certainly,  it  was  a very  forlorn  death- 
bed ; and  I felt  — what  I have  heretofore  been  inclined 
to  doubt  — that  it  might  be  a comfort  to  have  persons 
whom  one  loves,  to  go  with  us  to  the  threshold  of  the 
other  world,  and  leave  us  only  when  we  are  fairly 
across  it.  This  poor  fellow  had  a wife  and  two  chil- 
dren on  the  other  side  of  the  water. 

At  first  he  did  not  utter  any  sound ; but  by  and  by 
he  moaned  a little,  and  gave  tokens  of  being  more 
sensible  to  outward  concerns,  — not  quite  so  misty 
and  dreamy  as  hitherto.  We  had  been  talking  all  the 
while  — myself  in  a whisper,  but  the  surgeon  in  his 
ordinary  tones  — about  his  state,  without  his  paying 
any  attention.  But  now  the  surgeon  put  his  mouth 
down  to  the  man’s  face  and  said,  Do  you  know  that 
you  are  dying  ? ” At  this  the  patient’s  head  began  to 
move  upon  the  pillow ; and  I thought  at  first  that  it 


570 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


was  only  the  restlessness  that  he  had  shown  all  along ; 
but  soon  it  appeared  to  be  an  expression  of  emphatic 
dissent,  a negative  shake  of  the  head.  He  shook  it 
with  all  his  might,  and  groaned  and  mumbled,  so  that 
it  was  very  evident  how  miserably  reluctant  he  was  to 
die.  Soon  after  this  he  absolutely  spoke.  Oh,  I want 
you  to  get  me  well ! I want  to  get  away  from  here  ! ” 
in  a groaning  and  moaning  utterance.  The  surgeon’s 
question  had  revived  him,  but  to  no  purpose;  for,  being 
told  that  the  Consul  had  come  to  see  him,  and  asked 
whether  he  had  anything  to  communicate,  he  said 
only,  “ Oh,  I want  him  to  get  me  well!  ” and  the  whole 
life  that  was  left  in  him  seemed  to  be  unwillingness  to 
die.  This  did  not  last  long  ; for  he  soon  relapsed  into 
his  first  state,  only  with  his  face  a little  more  pinched 
and  screwed  up,  and  his  eyes  strangely  sunken  and  lost 
in  his  head  ; and  the  surgeon  said  that  there  would 
be  no  use  in  my  remaining.  So  I took  my  leave. 
Mr.  Wilding  had  brought  a deposition  of  the  man’s 
evidence,  which  he  had  clearly  made  at  the  Consulate, 
for  him  to  sign,  and  this  we  left  with  the  surgeon,  in 
case  there  should  be  such  an  interval  of  consciousness 
and  intelligence  before  death  as  to  make  it  possible  for 
him  to  sign  it.  But  of  this  there  is  no  probability. 

I have  just  received  a note  from  the  hospital,  stat- 
ing that  the  sailor,  Daniel  Smith,  died  about  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  after  I saw  him. 

May  18^A.  — The  above-mentioned  Daniel  Smith 
had  about  him  a bundle  of  letters,  which  I have  ex- 
amined. They  are  all  very  yellow,  stained  with  sea- 
water, smelling  of  bad  tobacco-smoke,  and  much  worn 
at  the  folds.  Never  were  such  ill-written  letters,  nor 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


671 


such  incredibly  fantastic  spelling.  They  seem  to  be 
from  various  members  of  his  family,  — most  of  them 
from  a brother,  who  purports  to  have  been  a deck- 
hand in  the  coasting  and  steamboat  trade  between 
Charleston  and  other  ports  ; others  from  female  rela- 
tions ; one  from  his  father,  in  which  he  inquires  how 
long  his  son  has  been  in  jail,  and  when  the  trial  is  to 
come  on,  — the  offence,  however,  of  which  he  was  ac- 
cused not  being  indicated.  But  from  the  tenor  of  his 
brother’s  letters,  it  would  appear  that  he  was  a small 
farmer  in  the  interior  of  South  Carolina,  sending  but- 
ter, eggs,  and  poultry  to  be  sold  in  Charleston  by  his 
brother,  and  receiving  the  returns  in  articles  pur- 
chased there.  This  was  his  own  account  of  himself  ; 
and  he  affirmed,  in  his  deposition  before  me,  that  he 
had  never  had  any  purpose  of  shipping  for  Liverpool, 
or  anywhere  else ; but  that,  going  on  board  the  ship 
to  bring  a man’s  trunk  ashore,  he  was  compelled  to  re- 
main and  serve  as  a sailor.  This  was  a hard  fate,  cer- 
tainly, and  a strange  thing  to  happen  in  the  United 
States  at  this  day,  — that  a free  citizen  should  be 
absolutely  kidnapped,  carried  to  a foreign  country, 
treated  with  savage  cruelty  during  the  voyage,  and 
left  to  die  on  his  arrival.  Yet  all  this  has  unquestion- 
ably been  done,  and  will  probably  go  unpunished. 

The  seed  of  the  long-stapled  cotton,  now  cultivated 
in  America,  was  sent  there  in  1786  from  the  Bahama 
Islands,  by  some  of  the  royalist  refugees,  who  had  set- 
tled there.  The  inferior  short-stapled  cotton  had  been 
previously  cultivated  for  domestic  purposes.  The  seeds 
of  every  other  variety  have  been  tried  without  success. 
The  kind  now  grown  was  first  introduced  into  Georgia. 
Thus  to  the  refugees  America  owes  as  much  of  her 
prosperity  as  is  due  to  the  cotton-crops,  and  much  of 
whatever  harm  is  to  result  from  slavery. 


572 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


May  22c?.  — Captain  J says  that  he  saw,  in  his 

late  voyage  to  Australia  and  India,  a vessel  commanded 
by  an  Englishman,  who  had  with  him  his  wife  and  thir- 
teen children.  This  ship  was  the  home  of  the  family, 
and  they  had  no  other.  The  thirteen  children  had 
all  been  born  on  board,  and  had  been  brought  up  on 
board,  and  knew  nothing  of  dry  land,  except  by  occa- 
sionally setting  foot  on  it. 

Captain  J is  a very  agreeable  specimen  of  the 

American  shipmaster,  — a pleasant,  gentlemanly  man, 
not  at  all  refined,  and  yet  with  fine  and  honorable 
sensibilities.  Very  easy  in  his  manners  and  conversa- 
tion, yet  gentle,  — talking  on  freely,  and  not  much 
minding  grammar ; but  finding  a sufficient  and  pic- 
turesque expression  for  what  he  wishes  to  say ; very 
cheerful  and  vivacious  ; accessible  to  feeling,  as  yes- 
terday, when  talking  about  the  recent  death  of  his 
mother.  , His  voice  faltered,  and  the  tears  came  into 
his  eyes,  though  before  and  afterwards  he  smiled  mer- 
rily, and  made  us  smile ; fond  of  his  wife,  and  carry- 
ing her  about  the  world  with  him,  and  blending  her 
with  all  his  enjoyments;  an  excellent  and  sagacious 
man  of  business  ; liberal  in  his  expenditure  ; proud  of 
his  ship  and  flag ; always  well  dressed,  with  some  lit- 
tle touch  of  sailor-like  flashiness,  but  not  a whit  too 
much ; slender  in  figure,  with  a handsome  face,  and 
rather  profuse  brown  beard  and  whiskers  ; active  and 
alert;  about  thirty-two.  A daguerreotype  sketch  of 
any  conversation  of  his  would  do  him  no  justice,  for 
its  slang,  its  grammatical  mistakes,  its  mistaken  words 
(as  ‘^portable”  for  “portly”),  would  represent  a 
vulgar  man,  whereas  the  impression  he  leaves  is  by  no 
means  that  of  vulgarity  ; but  he  is  a character  quite 
perfect  within  itself,  fit  for  the  deck  and  the  cabin^ 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


573 


and  agreeable  in  the  drawing-room,  though  not  amen- 
able altogether  to  its  rules.  Being  so  perfectly  nat- 
ural, he  is  more  of  a gentleman  for  those  little  viola- 
tions of  rule,  which  most  men,  with  his  opportunities, 
might  escape. 

The  men  whose  appeals  to  the  Consul’s  charity  are 
the  hardest  to  be  denied  are  those  who  have  no  coun- 
try, — Hungarians,  Poles,  Cubans,  Spanish  - Ameri- 
cans, and  French  republicans.  All  exiles  for  liberty 
come  to  me,  as  if  the  representative  of  America  were 
their  representative.  Yesterday,  came  an  old  French 
soldier,  and  showed  his  wounds  ; to-day,  a Spaniard, 
a friend  of  Lopez,  — bringing  his  little  daughter  with 
him.  He  said  he  was  starving,  and  looked  so.  The 
little  girl  was  in  good  condition  enough,  and  decently 
dressed.  — May  23  c?. 


May  30^A.  — The  two  past  days  have  been  Whit- 
suntide holidays  ; and  they  have  been  celebrated  at 
Tranmere  in  a manner  very  similar  to  that  of  the  old 
“ Election  ” in  Massachusetts,  as  I remember  it  a good 
many  years  ago,  though  the  festival  has  now  almost  or 
quite  died  out.  Whitsuntide  was  kept  up  on  our  side 
of  the  water,  I am  convinced,  under  pretence  of  rejoic- 
ings at  the  election  of  Governor.  It  occurred  at  pre- 
cisely the  same  period  of  the  year,  — the  same  week  ; 
the  only  difference  being,  that  Monday  and  Tuesday 
are  the  Whitsun  festival  days,  whereas,  in  Massachu- 
setts, Wednesday  was  “Election  Day,”  and  the  acme 
of  the  merrymaking. 

I passed  through  Tranmere  yesterday  forenoon,  and 
lingered  awhile  to  see  the  sports.  The  greatest  pecul 


574 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


iarity  of  the  crowd,  to  my  eye,  was  that  they  seemed 
not  to  have  any  best  clothes,  and  therefore  had  put  on 
no  holiday  suits,  — a grimy  people,  as  at  all  times, 
heavy,  obtuse,  with  thick  beer  in  their  blood.  Coarse, 
rough-complexioned  women  and  girls  were  intermim 
gled,  — the  girls  with  no  maiden  trimness  in  their  at- 
tire, large  and  blowsy.  Nobody  seemed  to  have  been 
washed  that  day.  All  the  enjoyment  was  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly sombre  character,  so  far  as  I saw  it,  though 
there  was  a richer  variety  of  sports  than  at  similar 
festivals  in  America.  There  were  wooden  horses,  re- 
volving in  circles,  to  be  ridden  a certain  number  of 
rounds  for  a penny  ; also  swinging  cars  gorgeously 
painted,  and  the  newest  named  after  Lord  Raglan  ; 
and  four  cars  balancing  one  another,  and  turned  by  a 
winch  ; and  people  with  targets  and  rifles,  — the  prin- 
cipal aim  being  to  hit  an  apple  bobbing  on  a string 
before  the  target ; other  guns  for  shooting  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a foot  or  two,  for  a prize  of  filberts ; and  a 
game  much  in  fashion,  of  throwing  heavy  sticks  at 
earthen  mugs  suspended  on  lines,  three  throws  for  a 
penny.  Also,  there  was  a posture-master,  showing  his 
art  in  the  centre  of  a ring  of  miscellaneous  spectators, 
and  handing  round  his  hat  after  going  through  all  his 
attitudes.  The  collection  amounted  to  only  one  half- 
penny, and,  to  eke  it  out,  I threw  in  three  more. 
There  were  some  large  booths  with  tables  placed  the 
whole  length,  at  which  sat  men  and  women  drinking 
and  smoking  pipes  ; orange-girls,  a great  many,  sell- 
ing the  worst  possible  oranges,  which  had  evidently 
been  boiled  to  give  them  a show  of  freshness.  There 
were  likewise  two  very  large  structures,  the  walls  made 
of  boards  roughly  patched  together,  and  roofed  with 
canvas,  which  seemed  to  have  withstood  a thousand 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


675 


storms.  Theatres  were  there,  and  in  front  there  were 
pictures  of  scenes  which  were  to  be  represented  with- 
in ; the  price  of  admission  being  two  - pence  to  one 
theatre,  and  a penny  to  the  other.  But,  small  as  the 
price  of  tickets  was,  I could  not  see  that  anybody 
bought  them.  Behind  the  theatres,  close  to  the  board 
wall,  and  perhaps  serving  as  the  general  dressing- 
room,  was  a large  windowed  wagon,  in  which  I sup- 
pose the  company  travel  and  live  together.  Never, 
to  my  imagination,  was  the  mysterious  glory  that  has 
surrounded  theatrical  representation  ever  since  my 
childhood  brought  down  into  such  dingy  reality  as 
this.  The  tragedy  queens  were  the  same  coarse  and 
homely  women  and  girls  that  surrounded  me  on  the 
green.  Some  of  the  people  had  evidently  been  drink- 
ing more  than  was  good  for  them  ; but  their  drunken- 
ness was  silent  and  stolid,  with  no  madness  in  it.  No 
ebullition  of  any  sort  was  apparent. 

May  — Last  Sunday  week,  for  the  first  time,  I 
heard  the  note  of  the  cuckoo.  Cuck-oo  — cuck-oo  ” 
it  says,  repeating  the  word  twice,  not  in  a brilliant  me- 
tallic tone,  but  low  and  flute-like,  without  the  excessive 
sweetness  of  the  flute,  — without  an  excess  of  saccha- 
rine juice  in  the  sound.  There  are  said  to  be  always 
two  cuckoos  seen  together.  The  note  is  very  soft  and 
pleasant.  The  larks  I have  not  yet  heard  in  the  sky  ; 
though  it  is  not  infrequent  to  hear  one  singing  in  a 
cage,  in  the  streets  of  Liverpool. 

Brewers’  draymen  are  allowed  to  drink  as  much  of 
their  master’s  beverage  as  they  like,  and  they  grow 
very  brawny  and  corpulent,  resembling  their  own 
horses  in  size,  and  presenting,  one  would  suppose, 


676 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


perfect  pictures  of  physical  comfort  and  well-being. 
But  the  least  bruise,  or  even  the  hurt  of  a finger,  is 
liable  to  turn  to  gangrene  or  erysipelas,  and  become 
fatal. 

When  the  wind  blows  violently,  however  clear  the 
sky,  the  English  say,  It  is  a stormy  day.”  And,  on 
the  other  hand,  when  the  air  is  still,  and  it  does  not 
actually  rain,  however  dark  and  lowering  the  sky  may 
be,  they  say,  The  weather  is  fine ! ” 

June  U.  — The  English  women  of  the  lower  classes 
have  a grace  of  their  own,  not  seen  in  each  individual, 
but  nevertheless  belonging  to  their  order,  which  is  not 
to  be  found  in  American  women  of  the  corresponding 
class.  The  other  day,  in  the  police  court,  a girl  was 
put  into  the  witness-box,  whose  native  gi*aces  of  this 
sort  impressed  me  a good  deal.  She  was  coarse,  and 
her  dress  was  none  of  the  cleanest,  and  nowise  smart. 
She  appeared  to  have  been  up  all  night,  too,  drinking 
at  the  Tranmere  wake,  and  had  since  ridden  in  a cart, 
covered  up  with  a rug.  She  described  herself  as  a 
servant-girl,  out  of  place ; and  her  charm  lay  in  all 
her  manifestations,  — her  tones,  her  gestures,  her  look, 
her  way  of  speaking  and  what  she  said,  being  so  ap- 
propriate and  natural  in  a girl  of  that  class  ; nothing 
affected  ; no  proper  grace  thrown  away  by  attempting 
to  appear  lady-like,  — which  an  American  girl  would 
have  attempted,  — and  she  would  also  have  succeeded 
in  a certain  degree.  If  each  class  would  but  keep 
within  itself,  and  show  its  respect  for  itself  by  aiming 
at  nothing  beyond,  they  would  all  be  more  respectable. 
But  this  kind  of  fitness  is  evidently  not  to  be  expected 
in  the  future ; and  something  else  must  be  substituted 
for  it. 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


577 


These  scenes  at  the  police  court  are  often  well  worth 
witnessing.  The  controlling  genius  of  the  court,  ex- 
cept when  the  stipendiary  magistrate  presides,  is  the 
clerk,  who  is  a man  learned  in  the  law.  Nominally 
the  cases  are  decided  by  the  aldermen,  who  sit  in  rota- 
tion, but  at  every  important  point  there  conies  a nod 
or  a whisper  from  the  clerk  ; and  it  is  that  whisper 
which  sets  the  defendant  free  or  sends  nim  to  prison. 
Nevertheless,  I suppose  the  alderman’s  common-sense 
and  native  shrewdness  are  not  without  their  efficacy  in 
producing  a general  tendency  towards  the  right ; and, 
no  doubt,  the  decisions  of  the  police  court  are  quite 
as  often  just  as  those  of  any  other  court  whatever. 


June  Wth.  — I walked  with  J yesterday  to 

Bebbington  Church.  When  I first  saw  this  church, 
nearly  two  years  since,  it  seemed  to  me  the  fulfilment 
of  my  ideal  of  an  old  English  country  church.  It  is 
not  so  satisfactory  now,  although  certainly  a venerable 
edifice.  There  used  some  time  ago  to  be  ivy  all  over 
the  tower ; and  at  my  first  view  of  it,  there  was  still  a 
little  remaining  on  the  upper  parts  of  the  spire.  But 
the  main  roots,  I believe,  were  destroyed,  and  pains 
were  taken  to  clear  away  the  whole  of  the  ivy,  so  that 
now  it  is  quite  bare,  — nothing  but  homely  gray  stone, 
with  marks  of  age,  but  no  beauty.  The  most  curious 
thing  about  the  church  is  the  font.  It  is  a massive 
pile,  composed  of  five  or  six  layers  of  freestone  in  an 
octagon  shape,  placed  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  pro- 
jecting side  porch  and  the  wall  of  the  church,  and 
standing  under  a stained-glass  window.  The  base  is 
six  or  seven  feet  across,  and  it  is  built  solidly  up  in 
successive  steps,  to  the  height  of  about  six  feet,  — an 

VOL.  VII.  37 


578  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1855 

octagonal  pyramid,  with  the  basin  of  the  font  crown- 
ing the  pile  hewn  out  of  the  solid  stone,  and  about  a 
foot  in  diameter  and  the  same  in  depth.  There  was 
water  in  it  from  the  recent  rains,  — water  just  from 
heaven,  and  therefore  as  holy  as  any  water  it  ever  held 
in  old  Romish  times.  The  aspect  of  this  aged  font 
is  extremely  venerable,  with  moss  in  the  basin  and  all 
over  the  stones ; grass,  and  weeds  of  various  kinds, 
and  little  shrubs,  rooted  in  the  chinks  of  the  stones 
and  between  the  successive  steps. 

At  each  entrance  of  Rock  Park,  where  we  live,  there 
is  a small  Gothic  structure  of  stone,  each  inhabited  by 
a policeman  and  his  family ; very  small  dwellings  in- 
deed, with  the  main  apartment  opening  directly  out-of- 
doors  ; and  when  the  door  is  open,  one  can  see  the 
household  fire,  the  good  wife  at  work,  perhaps  the 
table  set,  and  a throng  of  children  clustering  round, 
and  generally  overflowing  the  threshold.  The  police- 
man walks  about  the  Park  in  stately  fashion,  with  his 
silver-laced  blue  uniform  and  snow-white  gloves  touch- 
ing his  hat  to  gentlemen  who  reside  in  the  Park.  In 
his  public  capacity  he  has  rather  an  awful  aspect,  but 
privately  he  is  a humble  man  enough,  glad  of  any  lit- 
tle job,  and  of  old  clothes  for  his  many  children,  or,  I 
believe,  for  himself.  One  of  the  two  policemen  is  a 
shoemaker  and  cobbler.  His  pay,  officially,  is  some- 
where about  a guinea  a week. 

The  Park,  just  now,  is  very  agreeable  to  look  at, 
shadowy  with  trees  and  shrubs,  and  with  glimpses  of 
green  leaves  and  flower-gardens  through  the  branches 
and  twigs  that  line  the  iron  fences.  After  a shower 
the  hawthorn  blossoms  are  delightfully  fragrant 
Golden  tassels  of  the  laburnum  are  abundant. 


LIVERPOOL. 


579 


1855.] 


I may  have  mentioned  elsewhere  the  traditional 
prophecy,  that,  when  the  ivy  should  reach  the  top  of 
Bebbington  spire,  the  tower  was  doomed  to  fall. . It 
)has  still,  therefore,  a chance  of  standing  for  centuries. 
Mr.  Turner  tells  me  that  the  font  now  used  is  inside 
of  the  church,  but  the  one  outside  is  of  unknown  an- 
tiquity, and  that  it  was  customary,  in  papistical  times, 
to  have  the  font  without  the  church. 


There  is  a little  boy  often  on  board  the  Rock  Ferry 
steamer  with  an  accordion,  — an  instrument  I detest ; 
but  nevertheless  it  becomes  tolerable  in  his  hands,  not 
so  much  for  its  music,  as  for  the  earnestness  and  inter- 
est with  which  he  plays  it.  His  body  and  the  accor- 
dion together  become  one  musical  instrument  on  which 
his  soul  plays  tunes,  for  he  sways  and  vibrates  with 
the  music  from  head  to  foot  and  throughout  his  frame, 
half  closing  his  eyes  and  uplifting  his  face,  as  painters 
represent  St.  Cecilia  and  other  famous  musicians  ; and 
sometimes  he  swings  his  accordion  in  the  air,  as  if  in 
a perfect  rapture.  After  all,  my  ears,  though  not  very 
nice,  are  somewhat  tortured  by  his  melodies,  especially 
when  confined  within  the  cabin.  The  boy  is  ten  years 
old,  perhaps,  and  rather  pretty ; clean,  too,  and  neatly 
dressed,  very  unlike  all  other  street  and  vagabond  chil- 
dren whom  I have  seen  in  Liverpool.  People  give 
him  their  halfpence  more  readily  than  to  any  other 
musicians  who  infest  the  boat. 

J , the  other  day,  was  describing  a soldier-crab 

to  his  mother,  he  being  much  interested  in  natural  his- 
tory, and  endeavoring  to  give  as  strong  an  idea  as  pos- 
sible of  its  warlike  characteristics,  and  power  to  harm 
those  who  molest  it.  Little  R sat  by,  quietly  lis- 

tening and  sewing,  and  at  last,  lifting  her  head,  she 


580 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


remarked,  I hope  God  did  not  hurt  hisself,  when  he 
was  making  him  ! ” 


LEAMINGTON. 

June  2\st.  — We  left  Rock  Ferry  and  Liverpool 
on  Monday,  the  18th,  by  the  rail  for  this  place  ; a 
very  dim  and  rainy  day,  so  that  we  had  no  pleasant 
prospects  of  the  country ; neither  would  the  scenery 
along  the  Great  Western  Railway  have  been  in  any 
case  very  striking,  though  sunshine  would  have  made 
the  abundant  verdure  and  foliage  warm  and  genial. 
But  a railway  naturally  finds  its  way  through  all  the 
common  places  of  a country,  and  is  certainly  a most 
unsatisfactory  mode  of  travelling,  the  only  object  be- 
ing to  arrive.  However,  we  had  a whole  carriage  to 
ourselves,  and  the  children  enjoyed  the  earlier  part  of 
the  journey  very  much.  We  skirted  Shrewsbury,  and 
I think  I saw  the  old  tower  of  a church  near  the  sta- 
tion, perhaps  the  same  that  struck  Falstaff’s  long 
hour.”  As  we  left  the  town,  I saw  the  Wrekin,  a 
round,  pointed  hill  of  regular  shape,  and  remembered 
the  old  toast,  ‘‘To  all  friends  round  the  Wrekin!” 
As  we  approached  Birmingham,  the  country  began  to 
look  somewhat  Brummagemish,  with  its  manufacturing 
chimneys,  and  pennons  of  flame  quivering  out  of  their 
tops ; its  forges,  and  great  heaps  of  mineral  refuse  ; 
its  smokiness,  and  other  ugly  symptoms.  Of  Birming- 
ham itself  we  saw  little  or  nothing,  except  the  mean 
and  new  brick  lodging-houses,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  Passing  through  Warwick,  we  had  a glimpse  of 
the  castle,  — an  ivied  wall  and  two  turrets,  rising  out 
of  imbosoming  foliage  ; one’s  very  idea  of  an  old  cas- 
tle. W e reached  Leamington  at  a little  past  six,  and 
drove  to  the  Clarendon  Hotel,  — a very  spacious  and 


1855.] 


LEAMINGTON, 


581 


stately  house,  by  far  the  most  splendid  hotel  I have 
yet  seen  in  England.  The  landlady,  a courteous  old 
lady  in  black,  showed  my  wife  our  rooms,  and  we  es- 
tablished ourselves  in  an  immensely  large  and  lofty 
parlor,  with  red  curtains  and  ponderous  furniture,  per- 
haps a very  little  out  of  date.  The  waiter  brought 
me  the  book  of  arrivals,  containing  the  names  of  all 
visitors  for  from  three  to  five  years  back.  During  two 
years  I estimated  that  there  had  been  about  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  persons  only,  and  while  we  were  there, 
I saw  nobody  but  ourselves  to  support  the  great  hotel. 
Among  the  names  were  those  of  princes,  earls,  coun- 
tesses, and  baronets ; and  when  the  people  of  the 

house  heard  from  R ’s  nurse  that  I too  was  a man 

of  office,  and  held  the  title  of  Honorable  in  my  own 
country,  they  greatly  regretted  that  I entered  myself 
as  plain  Mister  ” in  the  book.  We  found  this  hotel 
very  comfortable,  and  might  doubtless  have  made  it 
luxurious,  had  we  chosen  to  go  to  five  times  the  ex- 
pense of  similar  luxuries  in  America ; but  we  merely 
ordered  comfortable  things,  and  so  came  off  at  no 
very  extravagant  rate,  — and  with  great  honor,  at  all 
events,  in  the  estimation  of  the  waiter. 

During  the  afternoon  we  found  lodgings,  and  estab- 
lished ourselves  in  them  before  dark. 

This  English  custom  of  lodgings,  of  which  we  had 
some  experience  at  Rhyl  last  year,  has  its  advantages ; 
but  is  rather  uncomfortable  for  strangers,  who,  in  first 
settling  themselves  down,  find  that  they  must  under- 
take all  the  responsibility  of  housekeeping  at  an  in- 
stant’s warning,  and  cannot  get  even  a cup  of  tea  till 
they  have  made  arrangements  with  the  grocer.  Soon, 
however,  there  comes  a sense  of  being  at  home,  and 


582 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


by  our  exclusive  selves,  which  never  can  be  attained 
at  hotels  nor  boarding-houses.  Our  house  is  well  sit- 
uated and  respectably  furnished,  with  the  dinginess, 
however,  which  is  inseparable  from  lodging-houses,  — • 
as  if  others  had  used  these  things  before  and  would 
use  them  again  after  we  had  gone,  — a well-enough 
adaptation,  but  a lack  of  peculiar  appropriateness  \ 
and  I think  one  puts  off  real  enjoyment  from  a sense 
of  not  being  truly  fitted. 


July  1st.  — On  Friday  I took  the  rail  with  J 

for  Coventry.  It  was  a bright  and  very  warm  day, 
oppressively  so,  indeed  ; though  I think  that  there  is 
never  in  this  English  climate  the  pervading  warmth 
of  an  American  summer  day.  The  sunshine  may  be 
excessively  hot,  but  an  overshadowing  cloud,  or  the 
shade  of  a tree  or  of  a building,  at  once  affords  relief ; 
and  if  the  slightest  breeze  stirs,  you  feel  the  latent 
freshness  of  the  air. 

Coventry  is  some  nine  or  ten  miles  from  Leaming- 
ton. The  approach  to  it  from  the  railway  presents 
nothing  very  striking,  — a few  church-towers,  and  one 
or  two  tall  steeples ; and  the  houses  first  seen  are  of 
modern  and  unnoticeable  aspect.  Getting  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  town,  however,  you  find  the  streets  very 
crooked,  and  some  of  them  very  narrow.  I saw  one 
place  where  it  seemed  possible  to  shake  hands  from 
one  jutting  storied  old  house  to  another.  There  were 
whole  streets  of  the  same  kind  of  houses,  one  story  im- 
pending over  another,  such  as  used  to  be  familiar  to 
me  in  Salem,  and  in  some  streets  of  Boston.  In  fact, 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  town  — its  irregularity  and 
continual  indirectness  — reminded  me  very  much  of 


COVENTRY. 


1855.] 


583 


Boston,  as  I used  to  see  it,  in  rare  visits  thither,  when 
a child. 

These  Coventry  houses,  however,  many  of  them,  are 
much  larger  than  any  of  similar  style  that  I have  seen 
elsewhere,  and  they  spread  into  greater  bulk  as  they 
ascend,  by  means  of  one  story  jutting  over  the  other. 
Probably  the  New-Englanders  continued  to  follow  this 
fashion  of  architecture  after  it  had  been  abandoned  in 
the  mother  country.  The  old  house  built  by  Philip 
English,  in  Salem,  dated  about  1692 ; and  it  was  in 
this  style,  — many-gabled,  and  impending.  Here  the 
edifices  of  such  architecture  seem  to  be  Elizabethan, 
and  of  earlier  date.  A woman  in  Stratford  told  us 
that  the  rooms,  very  low  on  the  ground-floor,  grew  lof- 
tier from  story  to  story  to  the  attic.  The  fashion  of 
windows,  in  Coventry,  is  such  as  I have  not  hitherto 
seen.  In  the  highest  story,  a window  of  the  ordinary 
height  extends  along  the  whole  breadth  of  the  house, 
ten,  fifteen,  perhaps  twenty  feet,  just  like  any  other 
window  of  a commonplace  house,  except  for  this  inor- 
dinate width.  One  does  not  easily  see  what  the  inhab- 
itants want  of  so  much  window-light ; but  the  fashion 
is  very  general,  and  in  modern  houses,  or  houses  that 
have  been  modernized,  this  style  of  window  is  retained. 
Thus  young  people  who  grow  up  amidst  old  people 
contract  quaint  and  old-fashioned  manners  and  aspect. 

I imagine  that  these  ancient  towns  — such  as  Ches- 
ter and  Stratford,  Warwick  and  Coventry  — contain 
even  a great  deal  more  antiquity  than  meets  the  eye. 
You  see  many  modern  fronts  ; but  if  you  peep  or  pen- 
etrate inside,  you  find  an  antique  arrangement,  — old 
rafters,  intricate  passages,  and  ancient  staircases,  which 
have  put  on  merely  a new  outside,  and  are  likely  still 
to  prove  good  for  the  usual  date  of  a new  house. 


584  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

They  put  such  an  immense  and  stalwart  ponderosity 
into  their  frameworks,  that  I suppose  a house  of  Eliz- 
abeth’s time,  if  renewed,  has  at  least  an  equal  chance 
of  durability  with  one  that  is  new  in  every  part.  All 
the  hotels  in  Coventry,  so  far  as  I noticed  them,  are 
old,  with  new  fronts  ; and  they  have  an  archway  for 
the  admission  of  vehicles  into  the  court -yard,  and 
doors  opening  into  the  rooms  of  the  building  on  each 
side  of  the  arch.  Maids  and  waiters  are  seen  darting 
across  the  arched  passage  from  door  to  door,  and  it  re- 
quires a guide  (in  my  case,  at  least)  to  show  you  the 
way  to  the  coffee-room  or  the  bar.  I have  never  been 
up  stairs  in  any  of  them,  but  can  conceive  of  infinite 
bewilderment  of  zigzag  corridors  between  staircase  and 
chamber. 

It  was  fair-day  in  Coventry,  and  this  gave  what  no 
doubt  is  an  unusual  bustle  to  the  streets.  In  fact,  I 
have  not  seen  such  crowded  and  busy  streets  in  any 
English  town  ; various  kinds  of  merchandise  being  for 
sale  in  the  open  air,  and  auctioneers  disposing  of  mis- 
cellaneous wares,  pretty  much  as  they  do  at  musters 
and  other  gatherings  in  the  United  States.  The  ora- 
tory of  the  American  auctioneer,  however,  greatly  sur- 
passes that  of  the  Englishman  in  vivacity  and  fun. 
But  this  movement  and  throng,  together  with  the  white 
glow  of  the  sun  on  the  pavements,  make  the  scene,  in 
my  recollection,  assume  an  American  aspect,  and  this  is 
strange  in  so  antique  and  quaint  a town  as  Coventry. 

We  rambled  about  without  any  definite  aim,  but 
found  our  way,  I believe,  to  most  of  the  objects  that 
are  worth  seeing.  St.  Michael’s  Church  was  most 
magnificent,  — so  old,  yet  enduring  ; so  huge,  so  rich  ; 
with  such  intricate  minuteness  in  its  finish,  that,  look 
as  long  as  you  will  at  it,  you  can  always  discover 


COVENTRY. 


585 


1855.] 


something  new  directly  before  your  eyes.  I admire 
this  in  Gothic  architecture,  — that  you  cannot  mas- 
ter it  all  at  once,  that  it  is  not  a naked  outline  ; 
but,  as  deep  and  rich  as  human  nature  itself,  always 
revealing  new  ideas.  It  is  as  if  the  builder  had  built 
himself  and  his  age  up  into  it,  and  as  if  the  edifice 
had  life.  Grecian  temples  are  less  interesting  to  me^ 
being  so  cold  and  crystalline.  I think  this  is  the  only 
church  I have  seen  where  there  are  any  statues  still 
left  standing  in  the  niches  of  the  exterior  walls.  We 
did  not  go  inside.  The  steeple  of  St.  Michael’s  is 
three  hundred  and  three  feet  high,  and  no  doubt  the 
clouds  often  envelop  the  tip  of  the  spire.  Trinity, 
another  church  with  a tall  spire,  stands  near  St.  Mi- 
chael’s, but  did  not  attract  me  so  much;  though  I, 
perhaps,  might  have  admired  it  equally,  had  I seen  it 
first  or  alone.  We  certainly  know  nothing  of  church- 
building in  America,  and  of  all  English  things  that  I 
have  seen,  methinks  the  churches  disappoint  me  least. 
I feel,  too,  that  there  is  something  much  more  wonder- 
ful in  them  than  I have  yet  had  time  to  know  and  ex- 
perience. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  searching  about 
everywhere  in  quest  of  Gothic  architecture,  we  found 
our  way  into  St.  Mary’s  Hall.  The  doors  were  wide 
open  ; it  seemed  to  be  public,  — there  was  a notice  on 
the  wall  desiring  visitors  to  give  nothing  to  attendants 
for  showing  it,  and  so  we  walked  in.  I observed,  in 
the  guide-books,  that  we  should  have  obtained  an  order 
for  admission  from  some  member  of  the  town  council ; 
but  we  had  none,  and  found  no  need  of  it.  An  old 
woman,  and  afterwards  an  old  man,  both  of  whom 
seemed  to  be  at  home  on  the  premises,  told  us  that 
we  might  enter,  and  troubled  neither  themselves  nor 
us  any  further. 


586  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS,  [1855. 

St.  Mary’s  Hall  is  now  the  property  of  the  Corpora^ 
tion  of  Coventry,  and  seems  to  be  the  place  where  the 
Mayor  and  Council  hold  their  meetings.  It  was  built 
by  one  of  the  old  guilds  or  fraternities  of  merchants 
and  tradesmen.  ...  The  woman  shut  the  kitchen 
door  when  I approached,  so  that  I did  not  see  the 
great  fireplaces  and  huge  cooking-utensils  which  are 
said  to  be  there.  Whether  these  are  ever  used  nowa- 
days, and  whether  the  Mayor  of  Coventry  gives  such 
hospitable  banquets  as  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool,  I do 
not  know. 


We  went  to  the  Red  Lion,  and  had  a luncheon  of 
cold  lamb  and  cold  pigeon-pie.  This  is  the  best  way 
of  dining  at  English  hotels,  — to  call  the  meal  a 
luncheon,  in  which  case  you  will  get  as  good  or  bet- 
ter a variety  than  if  it  were  a dinner,  and  at  less  than 
half  the  cost.  Having  lunched,  we  again  wandered 
about  town,  and  entered  a quadrangle  of  gabled 
houses,  with  a church,  and  its  churchyard  on  one  side. 
This  proved  to  be  St.  John’s  Church,  and  a part  of 
the  houses  were  the  locality  of  Bond’s  Hospital,  for 
the  reception  of  ten  poor  men,  and  the  remainder  was 
devoted  to  the  Bablake  School.  Into  this  latter  I 
peered,  with  a real  American  intrusiveness,  which  I 
never  found  in  myself  before,  but  which  I must  now 
assume,  or  miss  a great  many  things  which  I am  anx- 
ious to  see.  Running  along  the  front  of  the  house, 
under  the  jut  of  the  impending  story,  there  was  a 
cloistered  walk,  with  windows  opening  on  the  quad- 
rangle. An  arched  oaken  door,  with  long  iron  hinges, 
admitted  us  into  a school -room  about  twenty  feet 
square,  paved  with  brick  tiles,  blue  and  red.  Adjoin- 
ing this  there  is  a larger  school-room  which  we  did  not 


1855.] 


COVENTRY, 


587 


enter,  but  peeped  at,  through  one  of  the  inner  win- 
dows, from  the  cloistered  walk.  In  the  room  which 
we  entered,  there  were  seven  scholars’  desks,  and  an 
immense  arched  fireplace,  with  seats  on  each  side, 
under  the  chimney,  on  a stone  slab  resting  on  a brick 
pedestal.  The  opening  of  the  fireplace  was  at  least 
twelve  feet  in  width.  On  one  side  of  the  room  were 
pegs  for  fifty-two  boys’  hats  and  clothes,  and  there 
was  a boy’s  coat,  of  peculiar  cut,  hanging  on  a peg, 
with  the  number  60  ” in  brass  upon  it.  The  coat 
looked  ragged  and  shabby.  An  old  school-book  was 
lying  on  one  of  the  desks,  much  tattered,  and  without 
a title ; but  it  seemed  to  treat  wholly  of  Saints’  days 
and  festivals  of  the  Church.  A flight  of  stairs,  with 
a heavy  balustrade  of  carved  oak,  ascended  to  a gal- 
lery, about  eight  or  nine  feet  from  the  lower  floor, 
which  runs  along  two  sides  of  the  room,  looking  down 
upon  it.  The  room  is  without  a ceiling,  and  rises  into 
a peaked  gable,  about  twenty  feet  high.  There  is  a 
large  clock  in  it,  and  it  is  lighted  by  two  windows, 
each  about  ten  feet  wide,  — one  in  the  gallery,  and 
the  other  beneath  it.  Two  benches  or  settles,  with 
backs,  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace.  An 
old  woman  in  black  passed  through  the  room  while  I 
was  making  my  observations,  and  looked  at  me,  but 
said  nothing.  The  school  was  founded  in  1563,  by 
Thomas  Whealby,  Mayor  of  Coventry ; the  revenue 
is  about  X900,  and  admits  children  of  the  working- 
classes  at  eleven  years  old,  clothes  and  provides  for 
them,  and  finally  apprentices  them  for  seven  years. 
We  saw  some  of  the  boys  playing  in  the  quadrangle, 
dressed  in  long  blue  coats  or  gowns,  with  cloth  caps 
on  their  heads.  I know  not  how  the  atmosphere  of 
antiquity,  and  massive  continuance  from  age  to  age, 


588  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

which  was' the  charm  to  me  in  this  scene  of  a charity- 
school-room,  can  be  thrown  over  it  in  description. 
After  noting  down  these  matters,  I looked  into  the 
quiet  precincts  of  Bond’s  Hospital,  which,  no  doubt, 
was  more  than  equally  interesting ; but  the  old  men 
were  lounging  about  or  lolling  at  length,  looking  very 
drowsy,  and  I had  not  the  heart  nor  the  face  to  in- 
trude among  them.  There  is  something  altogether 
strange  to  an  American  in  these  charitable  institu- 
tions, — in  the  preservation  of  antique  modes  and 
customs  which  is  effected  by  them,  insomuch  that, 
doubtless,  without  at  all  intending  it,  the  founders 
have  succeeded  in  preserving  a model  of  their  own 
long-past  age  down  into  the  midst  of  ours,  and  how 
much  later  nobody  can  know. 

We  were  now  rather  tired,  and  went  to  the  railroad, 
intending  to  go  home;  but  we  got  into  the  wrong 
train,  and  were  carried  by  express,  with  hurricane 
speed,  to  Bradon,  where  we  alighted,  and  waited  a 
good  while  for  the  return  train  to  Coventry.  At 
Coventry  again  we  had  more  than  an  hour  to  wait, 
and  therefore  wandered  wearily  up  into  the  city,  and 
took  another  look  at  its  bustling  streets,  in  which 
there  seems  to  be  a good  emblem  of  what  England 
itself  really  is,  — with  a great  deal  of  antiquity  in  it, 
and  which  is  now  chiefly  a modification  of  the  old. 
The  new  things  are  based  and  supported  on  the  sturdy 
old  things,  and  often  limited  and  impeded  by  them ; 
but  this  antiquity  is  so  massive  that  there  seems  to  be 
no  means  of  getting  rid  of  it  without  tearing  society 
to  pieces. 

July  2c?.  — To-day  I shall  set  out  on  my  return  to 
Liverpool,  leaving  my  family  here. 


i 


